


Love Endless (The Road to Recollection)

by wubwubnparmaham



Series: Love Endless [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Abuse, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Ancient Roman! Harry, As if i even have to put that, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Bottom Louis, Bullying, Dom Harry, Historically Inaccurate, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mystery, Piano, So it doesnt get mixed in with the hp fandom, Sub Louis, Top Harry, Vampire Harry, Vampire Harry Styles, Vampire Zayn, gothic mansion, identity crisis, its decent, larry stylinson - Freeform, lol, oh boy, one crazy thing after the other, so by default, that last one lol, tortured pasts, which is a damn shame for the amount of research i put into this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 171,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wubwubnparmaham/pseuds/wubwubnparmaham
Summary: The year is groovy 1973, and eighteen-year-old Louis Tomlinson is perhaps the gayest teen to ever grace the gloomy, hateful town of Fortwright. Would be fine if he wasn't so viciously bullied at both home and school for such a "harmful" sexual preference.Yeah, yeah, we've all heard this story, haven't we?Believe him, Louis didn't think he was anything special either.Until he found the mansion. The notoriously haunted mansion hidden deep within the forests of his tiny blip of a town in Bumfuck Nowhere, Idaho. No one with a brain ever goes near it, but Louis could use a little excitement in his life...and possibly a Band-Aid or two.After discovering the mansion was less abandoned than he'd thought, he's now left with the most riveting mystery of a lifetime, every new finding leaving him with more questions. Who is this elusive owner, and why won't they show themselves? Why is there a set of journals in the same handwriting that span over centuries? Why in the world is there a padlock on the refrigerator...and who the hell is Alexander?[Book 1/4]





	1. Get The Fuck Out

**Author's Note:**

> *sings* Hello...it's me.  
> BAM. The full episode 1 of the 4-part series, 'Love Endless.' The stereotypical vampire story you've never read. (hold me to that)  
> Buckle up fam, it's gonna be a crazy one.  
> 14 chapters, 167k [171k] words, 2 weeks of your time. Let's go.  
> 

“Faggot!” Louis heard being snarled behind him, giving him even more incentive to keep pounding his feet on the forest floor. He doesn’t even know how it came to this. One minute he was calmly riding his bike home after an undeserved late-night detention session at school; the next, he was being chased by his high school’s football team, probably on their way to guzzle beer and tip cows in Old Man Marley’s animal farm.

Was Louis gay? Yes, of course he was. How these assholes had managed to clock it was miles beyond him, though. He’d never gazed in longing at these particular brutes, he’d never had a boyfriend, nor had he taken part in any public displays of affection with members of his own gender that any bystanders could have been witness to. He didn’t have magazine cutouts of John Travolta or Shaun Cassidy taped anywhere in his locker, regardless of how much they belonged there, and he kept the neon bell-bottoms to a bare minimum.

Life was interesting for a ‘faggot’ in 1973. Little by little, the fight for fair and just equality was brewing—with minor successes here and there—but that meant the backlash was now stronger than ever before. With more blinding rays of acceptance on the rise, huge waves of hatred followed in the shadows, spewing from everyone that felt ‘threatened’ by love.

One of the best examples being right behind him, in the form of Troy; a chump of a football team captain with a bad attitude, horrendous grades, a majorly crippling alcohol problem, and _buckets_ of introspective shame.

It was clear as day to Louis that Troy was just like him. Maybe it was his nifty powers of gayness that allowed him to detect his like-minded peers, but however he does it, Troy was undoubtedly a walking poster boy for ‘I’m gay, but my Daddy won’t let me.’

Of course, that’s not to say Louis’ Daddy does—if the scars on his back from Pa’s favourite belt were enough evidence to the contrary. No, it really wasn’t okay to be gay anywhere, but to get flak from someone in the same boat was a real bummer.

Troy had always been a problem for Louis, as far back as he can remember. Their rivalry had begun in the early years of elementary school, when Troy had called him a ‘girl’ for sucking his way through kickball on the playground. The negativity had then carried over to middle school, when Troy grew two feet overnight and realized he could take his newfound strength out on Louis’ face, driven by the fact that Louis cared more about theatre and music than he did the school sports games.

Such a lifelong hatred harboured by each for the other inevitably progressed into what it is today in their senior year of high school, and neither boy had ever despised anyone more in their lives. Except maybe their Fathers.

“Shit!” Louis hissed when he took a chanced look behind him and found the murderous jocks were getting closer by the second. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“Fucking cocksucker!” Troy bellowed into Louis’ back, his nasty goons mindlessly following their leader’s example and repeating the jab like a flock of parrots.

The worst part was that it wasn’t even true. Louis had only ever sucked a cock in his dreams. Troy’s favourite insult didn’t hold much weight apart from needlessly reminding Louis that he was a virgin. “You can do better than that!” he yelled over his shoulder, zig-zagging through the trees so that he might prevent the violence that would ensue if he lost this little game of ‘Tag-You’re-Dead.’

“You love sucking cock, don’t you, you fucking fairy! God damned queer! Love taking that good dick up your poofy little faggot ass? You wanna suck dick?” Troy taunted so loud his voice cracked, heightening Louis’ amusement with each desperate and hopelessly repetitive zinger he hurled out of his mouth.

“I’m not gonna suck you, Troy. You can stop asking,” Louis shot back, smirking when a chorus of “ohhhh” was mooed from the cattle Troy called buddies.

“YOU’RE DEAD, TOMLINSON!” Troy screeched like an eagle, further driving the point home that he was unnecessarily defensive about the subject. “When I catch you, you’re gonna get reamed, you fucking poof!”

“Sorry, did you say ‘reamed’ or ‘rimmed’? I can’t hear you over your faithful hyenas.”

“Can it, you airheads!” Troy snapped at his posse, shutting them up in fear of disappointing their anointed King. “How are you so fucking fast?” he wheezed as he continued to get out of breath while Louis was still channeling The Road Runner.

“Magical fairy powers!” Louis responded, truthfully reaching his limit as well. He was starting to regret speaking at all because now he’d outed himself twice, as if the team didn’t already have enough reasons to give him a swirlie at school. An irrefutable confirmation that Louis is _in fact_ from Homo City was never something he intended to gift them with, but riling the untouchable Troy was too much fun. For now…

“I’m gonna kill your ass!” Troy threatened maniacally, setting his exhaustion aside to hammer his feet even faster.

“You’re gonna _what_ my ass?” Louis challenged, glancing back to smirk at the fuming jock. “Sorry, but you’re not my ty—ahhhh!” he cut off to yell, suddenly rolling his way down the steepest hill known to man.

 _Fuck this forest_ , Louis cursed as he ate shit all the way down. This damn forest was notorious for having a cliff of death smack dab in the middle of it, and there _used_ to be fences along the edge to ward distracted hikers away from the precipice, but you can thank wastoids—like drunken football players to be specific—for their destruction. Vandalism is great.

Troy and his gang erupted into squawks of laughter at Louis’ misfortune, so that was swell, but he was actually safer in a pile of limbs down at the bottom than he was up there with them, so he let the jerks enjoy the moment. Their cackles got closer as they tiptoed to the edge and peered down, but they couldn’t see all the way in the darkness that had gradually taken over the sky ten minutes prior.

“You down there, queer?” Troy called, listening closely for a reply.

Louis kept absolutely silent in the pile of leaves he’d crashed into, slowing his heart rate and praying to whatever was listening that Troy would just give up.

“What if he’s died?” one of the sheep asked, causing Louis’ chest to sting from holding his laughter back so desperately.

“ _Dead_ , Blake,” Troy corrected in exasperation, “what if he’s _dead_.”

There were more muffled words that Louis couldn’t discern, and he upheld his commitment to being an inanimate statue.

“You just fucking wait, Tomlinson!” Troy suddenly shouted, a fierce blast of relief crashing over Louis from the group’s evident hate-crime-spree resignation. “Tomorrow at school, you’re gonna wish you’d never been born!” he warned, voicing to his team to “bounce” because the “faggot wasn’t worth it.”

 _Too late,_ Louis thought apathetically in response to Troy’s empty threat. Well, no, not empty—it would happen—but Louis’ withstood a lot worse. The fortunate perfection of the team’s sluggish footsteps crunching leaves as they retreated was music to Louis’ ears, but he didn’t dare move until at least five minutes had passed.

“That was groovy,” he sighed, sitting up with a wince and inspecting the damage. His back didn’t feel too great, and his neck had seen better days, but it was his right leg that really demanded attention. He must have scraped it across some straggling branch or something during the fall, and now it was bleeding pretty bad. At least the gash on his thigh seemed to be the worst of his ailments, so he admirably hoisted himself up on his feet to find a way home from his unfamiliar location.

Ohp, ankle. Ankle was a problem too. “God damnit,” he muttered, testing his weight and giving up from the sharp stabs of pain that followed. It was unlikely that he would have been able to climb back up the way he fell with fully functioning ankles, so there’s no way in hell he could do it now.

He hobbled his way away from the cliff of death to travel around the confusing forest until he found something. Shit plan, but it’s all he had. “This is ridiculous,” he said to himself, futilely trying to use the stars to guide his way, but he hadn’t the faintest clue what he was looking at. “Works in the movies,” he muttered, dramatically groaning and resuming his pitiful, directionless hopping.

He hummed the themes to his favourite shows and programmes to keep his mind occupied, and he didn’t know how much time had passed when he came across a few sad-looking gravestones. “Whoa, no, no, no, _come on_ ,” he whimpered, an irrational fear of ghosts having infested the entirety of his childhood. And who knows how irrational it really is? In the movies, it’s always a joke—and then suddenly you’re being possessed by some little girl that died in a fire in 1849.

“Powers that be,” he addressed to the sky, pointing at the gravestones with contempt. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t good enough. I was wondering if you could actually make this night even worse? This isn’t nearly terrible enough,” he sassed, hugging himself around his middle and trudging on through the old and eerily overgrown graveyard, determined to ignore the rustling in the trees that was hopefully being caused by the forest’s harmless night dwellers.

“Oh, it’s worse,” he deadpanned, staring at the looming town nightmare atop its creepy hill. He’s of course referring to the haunted mansion that plagues the urban legends of his little blip of a town in Idaho. Pitch black and gothic in its design, every kid for miles grows up hearing horror stories about the evil mansion that nobody ever returns from.

Louis has only really seen it a few times in his life. It’s so deep within the forest, you’d have to go intentionally looking for it to actually find it—unless you’re Louis, that is. Then you can just get chased by human monsters and run into it accidentally when you have nowhere else to go. “Aw, get real. You serious?” he whined at the raindrops that began to fall from the heavens.

“Fuck no,” he told the mansion as it practically moaned his name through the wind as an invitation to take shelter inside. Nobody knew if it was actually as abandoned as the legends suggest; people have sworn up and down that they’ve seen lights on, but they have no proof, and it looked pretty uninhabited to Louis.

Harsh bong, though. No denying that.

There was no guarantee that Louis would find anything inside worth a help, and maybe he really wouldn’t make it out alive, but what choice does he have? At least death would mean he wouldn’t choke on toilet water tomorrow at school. Win-win.

The steep incline of land guiding the way to the mansion that was unnervingly perched on its hilltop like a giant, hungry vulture, was daunting to say the least, but if the climb was the last step needed to escape the now pouring rain, then so be it. The gravestones multiplying in numbers as he neared the damn castle were the most discouraging things ever, but he had an incredible strength of will. “Do your worst, do your worst, do your worst,” he chanted under his breath, finally reaching the run-down gate and falling against it in relief.

The gate had an unsecured and laughably useless lock rusted to its middle bars, and Louis warily removed it, ducking from the illogical landmines that would be activated when he did so. “Oh, pull yourself together,” he scolded, slapping the lock down on an adjacent strip of metal and pushing the creaky gate open just enough to slide through.

Upon closer inspection of the state and condition of the grounds, Louis slowly began to understand that it was a little more kempt than it probably would be if nobody truly resided here. The hedges were trimmed, the grass wasn’t in disarray, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say there was a flower garden growing along the eastern side of the estate.

He stood in the rain like a wet cat, fishing through his pockets to flip a coin—a coin that would solely determine his next course of action. Now that the place looked lived in, barging inside was a risky idea; but on the other hand, so was bleeding to death. He flicked the rusty quarter up in the dark, keeping a vigilant eye on it so he would actually catch the thing, and he held his breath once it was trapped in his grasp, slowly removing his hand to uncover what his fate would be.

The coin was tails, and as he’d previously decided, so was entering the mansion. “Well, there you have it, folks,” he said to no one, pocketing the coin and inching toward the entrance with two rather uninviting metal bats for knockers on either door. Should he actually knock, though?

 _Not with a bat_ , he decided, trying for the handle instead. To his surprise, and slight horror, it opened, and he recklessly waltzed all the way inside before he had a chance to process what he was doing.

The door shut itself behind him like a creep, but he wouldn’t scream yet. Not until he was _sure_ he was going to die. It was pitch black inside, so he fumbled around for any much appreciated light switches, but he dropped his head forward in defeat when he realized this joint probably didn’t even _have_ electricity.

Amidst his internal monologue of whines, he ironically found the toggle he’d been hoping for just a few metres down the length of the wall, and he bravely flipped it on, even though the act could potentially expose him to whomever might be watching. The pain of his ankle temporarily forgotten, he jumped straight into the air when the old and cobweb-encrusted chandeliers bathed the main room in shimmering, golden light, but it wasn’t fear that made him jump. From his first real look at the mansion’s interior, it was astonishment.

Gorgeous doesn’t quite fit the bill if he were to hand out compliments, but he’ll try to explain it. The main room’s walls were garnished with the most breathtaking paintings Louis had ever seen. Countless Renaissance, still life, baroque, abstract—and a multitude of styles in-between—works of art hung proudly on the weathered and cracked walls, and even the smallest of the collection surely cost more than Louis’ life.

Turning his enthralled gaze to the floor, he was practically wracked with guilt for standing upon what he found. The intricate, Arabian-style rugs at his feet appeared to dwell right up there in the range of uncommonly priceless, and they made Louis want to dress himself in sashes and gowns, and lounge on them like an Islamic princess.

He resisted the temptation and continued to gawk, ogling over the vases and random collectibles from every culture he could imagine. Bowls that reminded him of China, heavy maroon curtains that could be from India, pillars that appeared Greek, and so much more that he couldn’t knowledgeably place. There were more antiques and timeless treasures interspersed within the home than Louis ever thought he’d see outside of a history museum.

This _was_ a museum. And Louis had just won an accidental golden ticket.

His blindsided gandering came to an abrupt halt when unmistakable movement in the opposite room seized his panicked attention. He whipped around to stare the ambiguous threat down, dumbly clutching his chest when he registered his own damn reflection in a glass mirror.

He took a few moments to restore his breath before rudely exploring more private property, and when the impending heart attack had subsided, he bravely approached the Louis in the glass. Upon entering the living room, his eyes immediately honed in on the three basic and fluffy couches that sat innocently on the floor, because they struck him as incongruent. They didn’t quite fit in with the Victorian vibes the mansion was sparkling in, and they were probably the only things here Louis could touch without receiving a hefty bill in his mailbox.

To lengthen the list of out-of-theme decor, judging by their covered shapes, arm chairs, lamps, and stacked tables occupied every overcrowded corner, standing ominously like white-sheet-ghost children on Halloween, just _begging_ Louis to cut eyeholes into them. The concealed furniture made the abode appear lived in _and_ abandoned, lavish _and_ debased, so Louis was hopelessly confused. Did someone live here, or not? It was a pretty simple question.

The mansion was clearly owned by someone at some point, but had they moved on? Were they living abroad? Did they die in the house? Are they _still here_?

 _Jesus,_ Louis thought, banishing his morbid thoughts as he strolled along the dark hallway he’d come to after passing the couches.

He slapped around the wall for another light switch, and this time little oil lanterns along the walls sprung to life obediently. They cast shadows of themselves down the length of the corridor, but they showcased some especially interesting and unseen portraits. Louis stood in sheer awe at the beauty of them, gazing in want at the two boys that were portrayed again and again.

Louis could only assume they were twins because both had brown, curly hair flowing down their shoulders, and identical features on their powerful faces. If not twins—though that was unlikely—they were at _least_ brothers, and probably ancestors of the noble family whose home Louis had presumptuously invaded. He tore his eyes from their beauty to search for the date in which the portrait was created, and he sighed in self-pity when he found it on the bottom of the frame. Of course it was painted in 1588.

Louis didn’t think he’d ever actually seen a relic so old in his life, and he seared the image of the clone boys into his mind, reciprocated to how their painted gazes had seared themselves onto him.

Louis wished for more time to study each painting in the hallway, but he had come here for an important reason, and it wasn’t as if his leg had magically stopped hurting, so he reluctantly kept walking en route to the bathroom he hoped he’d eventually run into.

He toggled every light switch he saw and wandered aimlessly through the literal maze hallways, turning right at every fork because he’d learned somewhere that you can’t ever get lost if you do that. Louis came to find a faint sliver of what closely resembled a sink just beyond the last door at the dead end of the last right turn, and if this wasn’t the bathroom, he’d just give up and die.

He limped forward and fell into the room, suppressing his cry of joy when his instincts had been proven trustworthy. He leaned his weight against the sink for support and twisted the old, grumpy nozzle, awaiting the coveted essence of life to pour from the spout, but he would not receive that gift as quickly as he’d anticipated. For in lieu of a nice flow of water, the sink made a terrible groaning sound instead, and brown mud sluggishly oozed down in its place.

Louis theorized the decrepit pipe just needed to cast the gunk out of itself first, and he used the time to hunt for hand towels. Fate was apparently on his team tonight because he spotted an old, dusty rag under the sink and yanked it out, impatiently watching the lumpy goo evolve into the clear liquid he needed. He undid the buttons of his jeans and gingerly eased them down his legs, lifting the garment up over the wound as much as he could in the uncomfortable process. They were admittedly pretty tight bell-bottoms—that were _really_ expensive and now ripped, but okay.

The sink—with its horrendously mediocre plumbing—roared to life as it coughed out the last of the bullshit, unknowingly protecting Louis’ sanity now that it could effectively be used for his advantage. He thrust the rag under the hissing stream and slapped it on his thigh after half-assedly wringing it out, wincing and taking a sharp inhale in through his clenched teeth from the sting. _This must be how slugs feel when sociopaths pour salt on them_ , he thought sympathetically, wetting the rag once more to give his leg round two.

Gritting his muscles, Louis bravely dragged the cloth back and forth against his skin to give the wound the necessary tough love it required, coming to the conclusion that less pain now wasn’t worth a deadly infection later. That simple act ended up drenching the rag in his blood, and he did a second sweep of the cabinets to hopefully find another one, but unfortunately came up blank. It struck him then that he’d passed a sheet-covered chair on his way down the hall, so he waddled out with his pants around his ankles to steal a strip of it.

The sheet by sheer luck had already suffered a small tear two inches into one of its edges, so it only took a little strength to rip it into the gauze that Louis needed. The favourable odds he had encountered surrounding this entire experience were mind-boggling, but he tried not to question good things in his life. It didn’t matter why they happened, only the fact that they did.

He wrapped the sheet strip around his leg and tied it expertly, having watched more than enough M.A.S.H. this year to know how to properly dress an injury. He had just finished carefully shimmying his hips back into the waistband of pants, when his heart practically sprouted wings and burst from his chest to migrate south for the winter. Can’t blame it though—it would be hard for any heart to stay inside the cage of its owner’s ribs when a distant door slammed so hard it shook the walls in a previously assumed ‘empty’ household.

Louis wanted to sprint out of the mansion that very second, but he didn’t want to be caught either, so he crept along on his tiptoes with trembling knees, staying close to the walls and bending down in a crouch as if it made him invisible. It would be pretty apparent to whomever lives here that _someone_ had been in their house—all these light switches certainly hadn’t turned themselves on—and Louis had inadvertently made himself into a visible and unhelpfully illuminated target.

Louis continued to turn left through the maze of halls, retracing his steps back to the main room so he could jet, temperamentally healing leg be damned. It took longer to return than he was comfortable with, because every creak of floorboards above him would temporarily erase his memory of how to move, until a minimum of thirty seconds of silence had passed by.

He snailed his way to the opening by the couches and halted before he would carelessly stumble out into a potentially dangerous environment. He heard nothing particularly threatening, so he inched his face around the corner to make sure he was alone before he would make a break for it.

He wasn’t alone.

“Whoever is in here, I’d advise you to get the fuck out!” a deep and furious voice roared, echoing down every corridor and bouncing off the walls in such an omnipresent fashion that pegging the origin was rendered an impossibility.

Louis was one hundred percent willing to obey the command and vacate the premises, never to return, but his body simply wouldn’t move like his mind wanted it to. To explain his hesitation, when Louis had first entered the building, he’d immediately veered off to the sides to gaze at the attention-grabbing artworks and inspect the distracting mirror; but straight in front of him had been a grand staircase leading to the second floor, and that second floor landing was lined with a railing that framed a rather expansive lookout over the majority of the first floor.

This meant that if Louis retreated to the front doors now, given that whoever was ordering him to leave was by chance standing on that very lookout, then Louis would be clearly seen for several seconds as he hobbled across the floor, and he would really like to avoid that if at all possible. He didn’t want this anonymous person of unknown mercifulness to know what he looked like, or that he was ever here at all, but he really didn’t have any other option. So to the doors he hobbled.

Louis managed _not_ to glance behind him and somehow made it all the way to the doors, flinging them open and jogging—couldn’t run—down the yard to start the long and confusing journey back to his bike. To then arrive at a home he’d have to climb in through a window to get back into, but at least one he wouldn’t be illegally trespassing on. He just hoped he could get some substantial sleep in before sunrise—he had a long day of toilet water ahead of him.

 

~~~

 

Harry snuck out from the room he’d locked himself in and scooted forward to peer over the railing and make sure the human had left. The boy’s scent was still hanging heavily in the air, and Harry had done nothing to deserve this kind of torment. He set a hand down on the railing and swung himself over it, landing soundlessly on the first floor and trying not to suffocate as he looked around in guarded suspicion.

The tempting scent was permeating his surroundings far more intensely than it should be if the human were truly absent, and Harry closed his eyes as he tasted the air to find the offensive source. The suspected origin pulled him backwards through the east hall until he was glaring in incredulity down a corridor into one of his bathrooms.

The vampire rushed through the door with a speed unseeable to the human eye and picked up a blood-soaked rag with a cornucopia of emotions raging in his still heart. He brought it to his nose and took a deep inhale, his eyes consequently rolling back in his head, and his fangs dropping in want. “ _Christ_ ,” he hissed, surrendering to genuine rock bottom and shoving the rag in his desperate mouth, greedily sucking the blood out of it before it dried.

 

~~~

 

“Master Harry, what _is_ all this commotion?” Martin asked in exasperation as he swung the bathroom door open, rendered speechless at the scene before him. His master was sitting on the floor against the bathtub with a bloody rag in his mouth, and a deep, lively tint of red in his irises that framed his widely dilated pupils—a striking colouration which only transpires when a vampire is plagued with severe blood-craze. Martin was the butler of the Styles mansion, and had been for around two hundred years; it’s safe to say he’d seen some pretty weird things, but this had to top it all.

Harry didn’t seem to consider replying of any importance, but he dropped the rag into his hand and gasped for the air that he actually needed. “I feel—more alive right now—than I have in—six hundred years,” he panted, placing a hand over his chest and grinning to feel his uncommonly thumping heart beneath it. He closed his eyes and sighed in bliss, savouring the exceptionally rare experience of having so much life within him.

“Our hospital blood does not compare?” Martin asked in wonderment, greatly tempted to ask for a taste, but he didn’t have to be a genius to know Harry would likely cover the rag defensively and hiss at him.

“Not like this,” Harry moaned reverently, biting down on the rag and keeping it in his teeth as he stood. “Fucking humans,” he muffled in irritation, passing Martin en route to his refrigerator because now, thanks to the rag, he was more ravenous than he’d been in a very long time.

“What happened?” Martin asked as he followed, beating Harry to the fridge so he wouldn’t have to lift a finger himself.

“No fucking idea,” Harry grumbled in frustration, eyeing the rag like it was the single greatest offense to him there’d ever been—it was. “Humans have come here before on occasion. I’ve smelled them walking around and tampering with things, but they always get spooked by their shadows and flee. Never in my two hundred years in this estate, not even once, has _anyone_ , left their _blood behind,_ ” he roared, smashing the rag down on the counter in disdain. He then flew to the adjacent dining room, and vented his rage on the expensive table that had sat untouched for a century, annihilating the mahogany furniture with a single mighty blow, and no regrets. He trudged back into the kitchen and leaned against the intact table, crossing his arms and grumbling over the audacity of it all.

“It certainly is very insensitive on their part,” Martin agreed, offering the pitcher of blood he’d heated to perfection over the stove.

Harry downed the whole thing in a flash, and he didn’t have to ask for Martin to scurry off and prepare more. “Am I not innocent enough?” Harry asked rhetorically. “Am I not invisible enough? Do I not hide myself away and treat the people of this town with respect? Do I not let them live when I could effortlessly crush them with a casual pat on their frail backs?” he helplessly begged the universe.

“You are a beacon of restraint and empathy, my Lord,” Martin nervously praised, pushing the second pitcher across the table and hoping he kept his arm attached to his shoulder in the process.

Harry angrily snatched it into his grasp and chugged the liquid down to the last drop, far beyond the point of savouring his stash. Zayn would come if he so called for him.

“Do you think—” Martin began, cut off by the fuming vampire elder.

“Don’t talk to me,” Harry snapped, waiting for Martin to leave the room before losing his dangerous demeanor so he could shamelessly pout instead. He fiddled with the key hanging around his neck and fell into his chair once he was alone, slamming his face down onto the unharmed table—with the table’s delicate condition in mind.

Harry was at the mercy of his troubled and overactive mind, but the mystery human remained at the front row of every passing thought, unfairly seducing the multi-millennium-old vampire with the mere memory of his fresh blood. Harry cursed the human to a fate worse than his, damning him to be crushed by a falling piano, and wander around as a confused ghost until the end of fucking time for what he had done to him.

Unbeknownst to the ignorant human, Harry was now addicted to his blood. He didn’t know who the perpetrator was, and he wasn’t optimistic enough to think he’d ever encounter the boy again by mere chance, but even still, Harry would now never forget his taste. For however much longer this wretched planet could sustain anything, Harry would always be chasing that flavour, and he highly doubted he would ever find it in anyone else.

“Curse you,” he growled, his heart slowing pitifully after five minutes of distracted brooding—now he’d wasted his high. He futilely clung to the life he’d been temporarily given, but as always, the effects of blood wore off, and he returned to the usual state of living death he suffered the majority of his time in. “Curse every day you ever have. Luckily for you, your blink of a life will be over before you know it.”

“Master, I know this isn’t a good time, but I found this on the bathroom floor,” Martin shyly announced, dropping a rusty coin on the table and sliding it forward until it was within Harry’s reach.

Harry squinted at what he recognized to be a quarter, and he obviously knew it wasn’t his, so the only logical conclusion was the human had left it behind. Harry gingerly tapped it with the sharp claw of his index finger, and dragged it across the polished wood until it was resting innocently on his edge of the table.

He then picked it up and gave it a sniff, smelling about seventy different human scents embedded in it and scrunching his nose in distaste. “Ugh,” he gagged, dropping it back down and watching it noisily dance around in a circle before falling flat and motionless.

“Should I dispose of it, Master?” Martin asked, already holding out a white gloved hand to whisk the object away.

Harry thought it over and shook his head, picking the coin up and closing a determined fist around it. “No. I’ll keep this, thank you,” he said, standing to retreat to his bedroom and sulk in private.

“Shall I prepare more—”

“I appreciate you, Martin. Everything you do. Please shut up,” Harry interrupted, sweeping past his sympathetic butler and making a beeline for the fourth floor. He kicked the rug away from the trapdoor in one of his many storage rooms, and took the spiral staircase it revealed down four steps at a time to get to his room, grabbing a candle from the wall on the way down to illuminate the area when he got there.

He jumped down the last three steps and violently kicked his clothes away as he made a path to his mattress on the floor. The size of it was called ‘King,’ but he certainly didn’t feel like one when he laid upon it. He set the human’s quarter down on his little side table, and flicked his gaze between the bloodied rag and a random spot on his concrete wall. _What do I do?_ he wondered.

He pursed his lips and rolled the cloth up, maneuvering it around his wrist and using his teeth to pull one side of the knot he’d made. He turned his arm around to gaze in longing at the memento wrist cuff he’d fashioned, and sighed in disappointment as he fell back against his bed.

 _What am I gonna do with you?_ he thought to the human boy out there somewhere, wishing more than anything that he’d be an idiot and come back, but the chances of that were slim. Harry had scared him off like he had everyone else, and humans weren’t generally suicidal creatures. _I miss you already,_ he whined in his head, taking a breath of the addictive scent at his wrist and closing his eyes to pretend like he could sleep—he couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely refuse to put this in, I'm too tired. The blood wore off so fast because of the craze. It usually lasts for an hour. BUT it went for like five minutes cuz he was insatiable. There hahaha.


	2. Pages of Privacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More confusing clues.

“Boy!”

“Huh—wha?” Louis snorted as he shot awake, taking note of his mud-caked clothes and recalling his burdensome journey home last night. The journey from the scary ass mansion…because he’d been there…that had happened.

“Louis!”

 _Shit_ , Louis mentally cursed, covering himself with the nearest blanket and timidly shuffling across the carpet to answer his door. He opened it to the angry form of his typically drunken Father, Troy, so it was just another Thursday morning. Oh, did Louis not mention that highly unfortunate coincidence? His own father’s name is Troy as well—apparently all Troys are deplorable.

“Yes, Pa?” he asked warily, beholding the splotchy beer stains down the middle of his Father’s undershirt, and the dripping bottle at fault in his beefy right hand.

“Wipe that stunned look off your face, boy. It’s Wednesday! You know what that means, right?” he asked, adding a lovely belch to the end of his statement.

“It’s Thursday, Dad,” Louis tried to correct, instantly reversing the course of that banter before he would regret it. “Vacuuming?” he guessed, craning his neck back to check his clock, whining over the hour it displayed. “Dad, it’s five in the morning. Vacuuming now will only wake Mom up,” he reasoned, squirming under the frightening glare he was pelted with.

“Is your Mother the breadwinner of this household? Does she call the shots, or do I call the shots? Why the fuck are you in your street clothes? Did you sneak out last night?” he roared, fisting Louis’ collar and yanking him forward into the light of the hallway.

“No, I swear I didn’t sneak out,” Louis whimpered truthfully, having not come home at all until two hours ago—the best way to lie is to do it while you’re telling the truth.

“You lyin’ to me, boy?” Troy growled, snatching Louis’ wrist and squeezing it like he was trying to juice an orange.

“No, Dad, I swear!” Louis squeaked, holding his breath for the uncomfortable ten seconds of silent eye contact, letting it out slowly when Troy thankfully gave up.

“Vacuum,” he barked with a slur, shooing Louis along with an uninterested wave of his arm.

“Yes sir,” Louis said, knowing full well that refusing was a fool’s idea. He spent the next half hour limping across the shaggy, avocado-coloured carpet with the appliance, as if it could actually pull something out of this dirt and fuzz infested black hole of a floor; all rational thoughts aside, he did it anyway.

Upon completion of said taxing chore, Louis shoved the clunky contraption back into its designated hall closet slot, and headed back to his room. It was now five thirty-three in the morning, and maybe Louis would finally get his much needed sleep if Troy would _just_ —

“Where you goin’? You done the dishes yet?” his Father asked gruffly, startling Louis when he materialized around the corner like a damn troll.

“On it,” Louis sighed as neutrally as he could manage, forcing his feet back across the fluffy carpet to reach the kitchen. Pa’s ingrained argument with all of this was that if Louis ‘wanted to be a fairy so bad,’ then he should do the woman’s work of the household, right? Because he obviously can’t be a man, and he can’t do ‘man things,’ so what else was there? Completely ridiculous, but Louis’ Mother could always use a break. The only reason Louis played along at all was for her—everything was.

Troy never hit her to his knowledge, but he worked her like a slave, and her health was suffering because of it. Seems like an easy road to freedom would be for his Mom to divorce him and go live somewhere else, but it wasn’t that simple. Stacey didn’t have a job, and getting one would be difficult; her and Louis probably wouldn’t be able to survive on their own, so Troy had free range to strut—drunkenly stumble—around, and play the role of the merciless slave owner all he wanted.

Louis finished his chores at a grueling pace, and the relieved sigh he let tumble out couldn’t have felt any better. After drying his hands and making a quick stop to his bedroom, he snuck into the bathroom with a change of clothes under his arm, and a box of medical supplies in the other, starting the shower and jumping in whether the temperature was ready for him or not. Now alone with his thoughts, Louis couldn’t help reliving the unseen owner of the mansion screaming at him to get out. Not that Louis wasn’t trespassing or anything, because he had been, but just what made the owner so angry that he yelled at an injured person to leave? Without even a hint of explanation?

Louis tried to imagine what he would have done if he’d been in the owner’s position, and he concluded that he would have _at least_ made sure the intruder was in good condition before sending them off into the night. Granted, the owner probably hadn’t even seen him, so he probably hadn’t known of Louis’ ailments—still rude though.

It’s weird, but all Louis wants to do is go back. That place was too surreal and too magical to forget about. Who lives there, why did he sound so young, why does he hide himself away? All kinds of hypotheses flowed into Louis’ mind, and he wondered if any of them were even close to the truth.

Perhaps the owner is horrifically disfigured like Victor Hugo’s _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ , and he would rather push everyone away than subject them to his sickening deformities. It could be that the man has some fatal susceptibility to disease, and cannot possibly live among people because a runny nose could put him in a coma. Or worse yet, maybe he’s already infected with some destructive, incurable disease—not to mention _terribly_ contagious—and now Louis will die in three days just from breathing the mansion air.

Against all crystal clear wishes of the owner, Louis made the reckless decision that he was going to go back; directly after school this time so the sun would be on his side. Maybe this time, Louis would get the chance to talk with the angry owner—discover just what his deal is.

The mansion had been a spooky subject in the town of Fortwright long before Louis was ever born, and the unanimously accepted explanations behind its mysteries had all been invalidated over time, shrouded in unreasonable and over-exaggerated gossip stories.

Louis had tripped upon this golden opportunity to uncover the _truth_ —to be the detective that everyone else was far too afraid to be—and only he could do it. How could he pass it up? How could anyone as adventurous as he? If executed properly, Louis could become the one and only voice of factual truth, and finally shed some light on the estate’s notorious darkness.

It was settled.

 

\---

 

Louis was locking his bicycle to the racks in front of his high school when he heard them. Each and every one of last night’s attackers, smirking at him like the devious little villains they were. The only one not giving him a sickening smile was Troy, who instead wore a face of pure white hatred, shooting burning lasers into Louis’ skin from his manic and twitchy eyeballs. That’s not promising.

Louis was safe for now with so many students and teachers strolling around, but he lacked any shred of confidence that Troy’s gang wouldn’t trap him alone at some point in the day. Unfortunately for Louis, not even Niall—the city boy from Denver who’d joined Red Hawk High in sophomore year, and had become Louis’ best friend within the first week—could stop the onslaught of random attacks in the unpredictable hours of the school day. For that to work, Niall would have to stick to his side like glue, and that simply wasn’t possible with the number of widely spaced classrooms they had to sprint to.

And even if Niall did follow him around like a bodyguard, the bullies would probably just take him down too, even though nobody was in on the blonde’s true sexuality besides Louis. Niall was much better at hiding his gayness, if his long and diverse list of girlfriends was anything to go by. Niall was the tennis captain, and he dressed as modestly as they come, so nobody suspected a thing.

Louis on the other hand had never been much of a mystery—no matter how hard he’d tried to blend—and Niall had sympathetically approached him after a vicious bathroom beating following the back-to-school-rally, and pulled him into his arms while he whispered, “You can trust me. We gotta stick together.”

Due to that event, Niall and Louis hadn’t ever needed proper introductions to become good friends, for it was instinctively automatic to fall into step together—but if you were to assume they would have fallen for each other, you’d be wrong. It’s true that they were all each other had to relate their sexualities to, but they were the very opposite of each other’s tastes, so a romantic relationship hadn’t even been a plausible thought in either of their minds.

“Hey, queer. Hope you brought a towel,” Troy taunted, interrupting Louis’ thoughts and sauntering inside the building without a pause, blatantly translating to Louis that ‘this wasn’t over’ with a threatening point of his finger. Louis sighed and watched the posse disappear, blindly returning his bike lock key to his bag and vehemently dreading the future. He hadn’t brought a towel. _Damn._

“He looks a lot worse than usual,” said a familiar voice behind him, capping over Louis like a tsunami wave in the ocean of relief.

“Niall!” Louis cried, whipping around and crushing the blonde in a fierce hug. Niall squeaked from the instant loss of airflow to his lungs, and he chuckled in mild confusion before hesitantly returning the embrace.

“What’s gotten into you?” the blonde asked into Louis’ hair, pulling back—not without struggle—to get a good look at the manic state of his best friend.

“I can’t even begin to describe what happened to me last night,” Louis said with a groan, flinging his bag over his shoulder and finally getting the move on to get to class.

“Try?” Niall asked in interest, walking in tandem beside him and glaring at every single person that gave them a weird look. The daily grind.

“Well…” Louis began, pausing when he realized he couldn’t say anything too revealing. Not yet, anyway. Louis didn’t fully understand why he wanted to keep the mansion details a secret, but it didn’t feel right to let anyone else on board for now. This secret was his.

“Did something happen with Troy? Come on, gimme the skinny,” Niall pressed in his typically insatiable way.

“Troy! That’s right,” Louis said, thankful he still had a story to follow his exclamation with; he would simply elude spilling the last and juiciest bits. “I was biking home from detention, right? And the whole team comes out of fucking _nowhere_ , runs me off my bike, chases me through the woods, and I fall down the cliff of death—”

“ _Louis_! Is that why you’re kinda limping? Jesus, Louis, that’s dangerous, you mighta kicked the can from that!” Niall gasped, looking his closest, and most definitely _stupidest_ friend up and down to confirm he wasn’t actually on the verge of death.

Louis laughed and batted Niall’s primping hands away, hopping once on his weakened feet to tighten the shoulder straps of his backpack as they neared the entrance. “Look, I’ll tell you all about it at lunch, okay? I’m gonna be late, and I honestly shouldn’t be walking the hallways alone.”

“Oh, hey! I brought a towel. I know you always forget them,” Niall said, pulling a white towel out of his bag just enough for Louis to see. “Good thing I did, too. Looks like today’s gonna be brutal.”

Louis’ not a big crier, but if he was, Niall’s current act of kindness would be the thing to tip those scales. “Thanks, cat,” Louis said gratefully, the pair walking off in different directions to their respective classes, throwing short goodbyes over their shoulders.

 

\---

 

“Hey, did you hear what happened to that kid?” Louis barely heard, picking up on the gossiping whispers from one of the noisy desks behind him.

“Yeah man! I heard he got creamed by Troy and Dante and them. Rosie said that all of the Badgers were there. The _whole team_. And I mean, it makes sense, did you see him limping?”

“Yeah, I heard they got him pretty good...I wonder if he really is ga—”

“Actually—” Louis intercepted before the kid could finish his sentence, swinging around in his chair to firmly address the loud-mouths. “—I fell down the cliff of death. So you can stop giving Troy so much credit for something he doesn’t deserve.”

“Yeah _right_ ,” his unidentified classmate cackled. “It’s called the cliff of death for a _reason_ , Louis. You would have broken your fucking neck!”

“Were you there?” Louis challenged, quickly growing irreversibly furious that this was the official story for his tattered condition.

“No, I wasn’t. That’s exactly why I can’t believe you,” the kid retorted, turning to his work and furthermore ignoring Louis, making it clear he wouldn’t acknowledge a response.

Louis scoffed at the kid’s immaturity and turned back around himself, fervidly writing his assigned paper, and only tolerating life in its entirety because he knew he would go back to explore the mansion before the sun could set. School had to end some time, and there was an extraordinary break from the mundane patiently awaiting his extensive discovery. He started counting down the minutes.

 

\---

 

Louis’ classes passed by at an acceptable speed to bring about the lunch bell, and he intentionally stayed in the center of large crowds until he reached the cafeteria, jogging—to his greatest capability—to his and Niall’s decidedly personal bench, where the blonde was enthusiastically blazing through the latest _Ghost Rider_ comic volume.

“That any good?” Louis inquired, surveying the cafeteria for the brutish football team and cringing when he discovered they were already staring at him from across the room.

“Yeah, just picked it up yesterday. Twenty cents! _Such_ a steal,” Niall hastily replied, sticking his nose back in the comic the moment his last syllable had been uttered.

“Lucky your parents let you have those. My Dad won't allow it, but you’d think he would. It’s pretty masculine,” Louis said with a shrug, standing to retrieve his tray and fill it with the putrid slime the school district considered decent sustenance. “I’ll be right back.”

“Mmhm,” Niall distractedly responded, flipping the page quick as lightning and dropping his mouth open at the apparent action that was displayed.

Louis tiptoed and side-stepped his way through the hordes of loiterers with about fifty timid “excuse me”’s, and maneuvered back to his bench in the same way, this time with a smelly tray held high over his head. “Niall, I think I’m going to die here,” he said warily as he dropped the plastic tray onto the table, regarding Troy and his beautiful right-hand, Dante, with passably concealed terror.

“Nah, they’re just bullies. I don’t think they’d actually _end_ you,” Niall reasoned, finally putting his comic down because he could sense Louis’ suffocating helplessness.

“And you don’t see anything iffy about using the term ‘think’?” Louis squeaked, hanging his head down and eating his supposed “chili” in anxiety.

“Murder would fuck up game season. That’s their main reason for existing, they’re not gonna mess with that,” Niall said, switching his pb&j for Louis’ pudding cup. “Here, take this. You need something healthy.”

“Thanks, Niall,” Louis sighed, freeing the sandwich from its crumpled saran wrap and gnawing on it like a rabbit. It had always been an unspoken agreement that Niall would bring him something to eat from his house, because Louis didn’t have an overload of options from his—to put it lightly—and Louis eternally loved the blonde for his constant generosity. “You sure I won’t get killed today?” he asked again, hoping to be convinced he was being unreasonable, even if he wasn’t.

“Don’t have a cow, Lou. I brought a towel,” Niall replied with an easy shrug. If he could take all the bullying away from Louis, he would in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t do anything to stop Troy, and the teachers wouldn’t do it either.

“Why are you so good to me?” Louis giggled, popping the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and laying his forearms atop the table to rest his tired head on.

“‘Cuz it could be me,” Niall replied instantly, knowing full well that it was probably only a matter of time until he was caught in the same position.

“At least we’re seniors, right? Only one more year of this bullshit,” Louis said gladly.

“Actually, it never stops. Only now, you’ll be in danger of losing your job because of it,” Niall said carefully, reluctant to correct Louis at all, but in his factual opinion, harsh realism is always more valuable in life than naïve optimism.

Louis glared daggers at Niall for his unwarranted honestly and groaned into the bench, uncrossing his arms to grab fistfuls of his hair. “Thank you, Niall,” he muttered helplessly.

“Hey, I’m right there with you,” Niall reminded for support, huffing in irritation when the bell rang to conclude lunch. “Do you feel like they’re shortening our lunch? I swear, it didn’t use to be over this fast,” he said in disappointment.

“Whatever makes the day feel faster is welcomed by me,” Louis sighed, pushing off the bench to grudgingly drag himself to his locker.

“You be careful, alright?” Niall said sternly, always concerned over his best friend being the walking bullseye for the Red Hawk Badgers’ torments. “The towel is in my locker if you need it.”

“Primo,” Louis said emotionlessly, leaving his only protection behind and facing the unknown—but most likely bleak—future.

 

\---

 

Louis was only just done fetching his books for his next class, when the beefy jock hand he’d been worried about slammed against the locker beside his head, and another one spun him around by his sore shoulder. “Hey, _fairy_ ,” Troy spat, smiling with glee like a spoiled brat at his birthday party.

Louis didn’t even try looking to any of the students in the hallway for help; he knew they were very purposefully averting their eyes, and wouldn’t come running to his rescue. The teachers wouldn’t do shit either; Troy’s rich, snobby parents funded the entire fucking school. The sports teams’ uniforms and gear, the extravagant luxuries at all the events, like the caterers and sound equipment, all came out of their pockets. Additionally, they also forked over for newly upgraded classroom materials, and booked the musical bands that won the most votes for the school dances. Those two showered their income on almost everything the school needed and depended on—could ever even ask for—and because of this, their bastard son was unstoppable.

“Hey, Satan,” Louis greeted calmly, in stark contrast to his fretfully pounding heart.

“Satan?” Troy laughed, his favourite two lackeys, Dante and Jesse, following suit. “That’s funny. Considering _you’re_ the one who’s going to hell for your despicable lifestyle.”

“Get bent, Troy. I suppose you think you’re safe because you lie to yourself? And aren’t you supposed to ‘love thy neighbor’? Or did you sleep through that part at church?” Louis goaded, turning his back to finish his locker business, but of course Troy had other plans.

“You fucking asked for it,” Troy growled, gripping the back of Louis’ neck and walking him toward the bathroom that was inconveniently—depending on who you asked— _directly_ across from Louis’ locker. The universe hated him.

“What a surprise,” Louis grumbled, steeling himself to the best of his ability, and striving to make mental peace with what he knew was going to happen to him. His expectations were blown out of the water with the sharp knee that rammed into his stomach. Louis wasn’t anticipating a physical attack the second they were inside the disgusting bathroom, and he coughed it out while Troy marinated in superiority.

“ _Now_ you’re ready,” Troy announced to the wheezing Louis, shoving him forward repeatedly until he got him crowded into a stall.

Louis shuddered in disgust when Dante pulled his cock out and began pissing in the toilet, frantically trying to make a break for it, but one person versus three was a terrible disadvantage. “No, no, Troy, come on! No, this is disgusting, _please_ ,” he begged, fully aware he was only fueling the bully’s power trip that much more.

“I don’t give a shit. This is what you deserve,” Troy sneered into Louis’ face as he shoved the gorgeous vixen down on his knees like he’d imagined so many times, only in a much different way. All the more reason to make Louis’ life miserable for poisoning his pure, Christian mind with the constant stream of sinful, unholy thoughts.

Dante finished pissing and buttoned his pants back up, laughing deviously at his handiwork, and stepping away to give them room.

Troy spun Louis around to face the toilet, and Louis slammed his hands on the seat, using every inch of his strength to fight the two assholes who were roughly pushing him down. “No,” he whined desperately, attempting to kick his attacker’s shins behind him. “Please.”

“What’s going on in here!” a loud and authoritative voice suddenly demanded into the dirtily-tiled bathroom, all hands releasing Louis and backing away from him in the span of a second.

 _Thank fucking god_ , Louis screamed in his head, falling onto his butt and hitting his head against the cubicle wall in relief.

“Mr. Anderson,” Troy addressed somewhat nervously, given he’d just been caught in the act by one of the only teachers in the whole school who didn’t bow down to him. Just his luck.

“Get to class,” the teacher ordered, waiting until the three athletes scrambled out of the bathroom like rats to walk over and speak to the student practically having an asthma attack on the floor. “Are you okay?”

Louis shakily stood to his feet and opened his mouth to answer the relatively stupid question, but in the place of words, he instead doubled over and hurled his response into the very toilet bowl he was nearly submerged in. A physical reaction that likely stemmed from the influx of stomach-churning adrenaline he’d been flooded with so quickly.

“Yeah,” he eventually rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and timidly shuffling to the sink to wash his face. Mr. Anderson didn’t appear convinced that Louis was truly fine, but his skepticism didn’t bother Louis—it was none of the man’s business. What _did_ bother Louis were the rather alarming words that left Anderson’s mouth next.

“I’m going to tell the Principal what happ—”

“Don’t you dare,” Louis snapped with fire in his eyes, spinning around and walking the shocked teacher backward right against the wall. “Thank you for saving me, really, but please don’t tell. I’m _begging_ you. It’ll make everything a thousand times worse,” he pleaded, praying that Mr. Anderson could somehow relate from the potential bullies that littered his past.

As it were, Mr. Anderson understood exactly how it had been for him in the 50s, so he sighed with a nod of assurance and waved Louis off with a heavy heart. “Very well…but tell me when it happens again. If it’s always this bathroom, then I’ll always be here.”

Needless to say, Louis was thunderstruck by the protective declaration, and he probably could have cried right then and there, but he simply didn’t have the time. “I gotta get to class. I’m probably gonna get detention again as it is—”

“Wait,” Mr. Anderson said, pulling a pass out of his fanny pack, and messily scribbling in the information that would excuse Louis’ truancy. “Here, give this to your teacher. They can come to me if they don’t believe it,” he said softly, handing over the note that Louis took in his reverent hands.

“Th-thank you,” he stuttered in disbelief, that same batch of tears threatening to make their debut this time.

“You’re welcome. Now go to class,” Mr. Anderson said with an air of finality, waving him off with a gentle flick of his wrist.

Louis held the paper against his chest and ran out, hastily grabbing the locker stuff he’d been initially trying to, and bursting into his next class note first.

 

\---

 

“You _sure_ you don’t want a ride home?” Niall asked skeptically, eyeing Louis’ handicapped hobbling and having understandable doubts that his friend would make it all the way to his destination intact.

“No, really. It’s okay,” Louis deflected, as if his leg _wasn’t_ killing him. “I just gotta stay off it, that’s all.”

“Dream on, Lou, you’ve been walking on it all day! You should see a doc-in-the-box,” Niall negated, catching Louis when he stumbled by the bike racks.

“We don’t even have the money for _that_. Father-Troy will just tell me to walk it off anyway, so that’s what I’ll do,” Louis reasoned, unlocking his bicycle and rolling it out of its spot, throwing his bad leg over the seat and balancing himself before he fell.

“But how are you gonna bike home?”

“I can do it with one leg…just go home, Niall,” Louis said in the kindest way possible. If it were any other day, he would have accepted the offer in a heartbeat, but he had something to do.

“If you say so,” Niall said dubiously, shrugging because it wasn’t his business to smother him to death. “See you tomorrow, Lou. _Be careful_ , you putz.”

“Yup,” Louis chirped a little too positively, watching Niall pause his retreat and presumably fight the impulse to keep pleading his case. The blonde evidently gave up and resumed the walk to his truck, and Louis let out the breath he’d been holding in anxiety.

“That was close,” he sighed in relief, rubbing his palms together in unashamed excitement of his newfound freedom. He fixed his gaze north toward the seductive woods, and commenced his awkward, one-legged pedaling without a second more of delay. Soon, he would finally be back within the bowels of the wonderous place he’d been missing all day—the mansion of a thousand mysteries.

Louis had paid vigilant attention to the exact route he’d taken to retrieve his bike after he’d been chased out last night, so now he had a decently dependable map in his head to follow— _without_ accidentally enacting take-two of death roll.

 

\---

 

“There you are, you nightmare,” he muttered in victory when a pointy tip of the mansion became visible over the treetops. Under his tires lied a pitifully constructed and primarily untrodden dirt road that would guide a traveler straight to the creaky gates, but few considered the mansion to be an advantageous destination. Their loss.

Louis increased the speed of his pedaling with pointed disregard to the burning inferno that was charring his left leg’s muscles, because if he didn’t, he would lose all desired momentum to get up the damn hill. Through the squint of his eyes, Louis had discerned the gate was still wide open, hence the reason he wasn’t slowing down at all, but why the owner hadn’t _closed_ it after the Louis incident was completely lost on him.

A random but mighty gust of wind took that time to beat against him the instant he entered the grounds, whipping his shoulder-length, winged hair into an unmanageable catastrophe, but no misfortune stood a chance at deterring him from his ambition. The steep climb of the hill was upon him now, and he powered through the incline as far as he could before his choices boiled down to ‘get off the bike now’ or ‘roll backward and die.’

When it came to that point, he stamped his foot down and carefully dismounted, limping as he pushed his bike the rest of the way. He walked across the grounds with far more confidence than he’d had last night, and was able to get a much better look at the shrubbery and flowers bathing in the sunlight. He’d successfully—and very intentionally—avoided glancing at the gravestones this time, so only beauty remained.

The wonderful rainbow array of flowers were drastically incongruous to the dark gloom of the mansion, but the unconventional contrast held elements of perfection in it. If Louis ever got to sit down for a chat with this grumpy owner, he’d be sure to inquire the rhyme and reason of the flower garden.

Louis hesitated to barge inside in such broad daylight, deciding he wouldn’t repeat that crime today now that he knew someone did in fact live here. Louis concluded that his unannounced intrusion had most likely been the owner’s prominent issue, so actually knocking would insure a more promising ending to this visit...right?

Louis didn’t allow his thoughts to dwell on the potential repercussions, and he lifted the heavy metal ring grasped within the bat’s feet off the door, and swung it back down with purpose, scaring even himself with the sheer volume of the clash. The echo it made inside could probably be heard from every single corner of the mansion, and Louis instantly regretted causing such a sound. He waited there on the doorstep with lumps of nerves in his throat for at least five minutes before his breathing returned to normal. _Is he not here?_ he wondered, debating and weighing the pros and cons of utilizing this opportunity for his snoopy advantages.

Said pros and cons he rationalized are as follows:

One, the owner was already inside waiting for Louis to open the door and step into the premises, where he’d then shoot him point-blank with the gun he was currently loading.

Two, Louis would wander through the mansion for hours and lose track of time. He would hear a scuttling behind him while rummaging through one of the room’s many treasuries, and he would guiltily turn around to find the owner standing in the doorway with a machete in his hand, and nowhere for Louis to go but out the third-story window.

Or three, Louis walks in and approaches the somehow expectant owner like he’d been cordially invited, compliments him on the amazing interior of his lovely abode, the owner tells Louis his hair is fabulous, and they become lifelong friends and haunt little children together.

Three highly logical and equally probable scenarios, but which one is it? And should he really aim to find out?

A coin. Louis giggled and fished another pocket coin out, letting the rusty currency choose for him for the second time because he just can’t make any decisions for himself. He called heads to switch it up and flicked it into the air, praying that the coin had his back again. However, this time, no matter the results, Louis had a strong suspicion that he’d do whatever he wants anyway.

The coin is heads. _Well shit,_ he thought conclusively, pocketing the nickel and trying the door to see if it was unlocked. To his confusion, it swung open just like the last time, and he really didn’t understand this at all. If the owner had been so furious that he’d broken in, why wouldn’t he lock his gate? Why wouldn’t he lock his _doors_?

Louis loudly dropped his bag on the floor and rushed into the center of the room, spinning in a slow circle to behold all the details he’d missed that had desaturated in the dark. The crown molding around the door jambs and upper edges of the walls were of a magnificent burgundy-reddish hue, and the walls themselves were a warmly deep honey-brown that really shouldn’t coordinate all that well, but immaculately does.

The staircase in front of him was taken straight out of the ballroom in Cinderella, only in lieu of the movie’s simplistic red carpet, this one was donned with elaborate and intricately woven rugs of yellow and gold, similar to the rugs on the floor. In the light of day, Louis could clearly see another row of rooms down a hallway behind the stairs he hadn’t seen before, so he took that route instead of going the way he already had.

Oh, but before he snoops…“Hello?” he called, leaning his head forward like he might hear a response better that way. “Is anyone home?” he asked, still put off from the answering silence. “Look, I’m sorry I barged in last night, but it was raining and I had nowhere to go. Not to mention my injuries, but I wouldn’t have come at all if I… _HELLO_?” he bellowed, beyond tired of dancing around.

Nothing. “Alright then,” he muttered under his breath, making up his mind to peek at things that he probably shouldn’t. No reply either meant that the owner was not at home, or hiding in attack mode somewhere, but Louis had an important investigation to commence. He would defend himself if necessary, but he would not back down until that moment came to pass.

He walked around the stairs and gazed upward to see the limit of what was visible, and he guessed the other staircases were in different locations, considering he couldn’t see the very tip-top of the ceiling that the height of this building would suggest. He kept his feet moving and came to a promising looking door, holding his breath as he pushed it open because the possibilities of its contents were endless and unknown.

On top of his breath, he now had to hold in a squeal of merriment over what he found, because by some stroke of genius or luck, he’d discovered the music room straight away. He had just known there would be a music room, it would have been preposterous for a place like this to lack a piano in its possession.

Aside from the wide variety of musical instruments that could almost make up an entire orchestra, sheets upon sheets of written music absolutely littered the floor, and Louis was in heavenly trouble. He was in treble—get it? Okay, sorry, but Louis is a very cultured pianist, and here before him sat an incredibly old and classical grand piano just _begging_ him to play it. And it already had suggestions in disarray all over the floor.

Louis crouched with two identical cracks to his knees, and sifted through the scrawled notes that were sitting on the lines the composer had drawn himself—if he’s going by the ruler that was also among the sheets. Basically whomever had written all of this music had written every part of it themselves. The bar lines, the clefs, key and time signatures, sharps and flats, rests, the complex notes themselves, and the titles to each piece were all priceless works of art. Louis practically drooled in fascination, and he made quick work of gathering the scattered beauties into a manageable pile so he could plop down on his butt and creep on them.

They were all out of order, but they had little numbers in the top right corners, so Louis tried his best to go by that, additionally using his ability to read music to match the themes. It was difficult work, but he’d made a considerable dent in the organizational process when he came across an apparent reject.

The composer had clearly had a hard time with this one. An angry mess of measures and stanzas, entirely scratched out and redone on the next line, only to be scribbled out again. He could almost feel the writer’s frustration as he stared at the failures. Every musician knew what this was like. He noticed some words on the corner of a sheet that had been scrunched up into a little ball, and he flattened the whole thing out so he could read it.

It was actually in French, and he didn’t speak any of that language, so that wasn’t very helpful…but from what he could tell, it read:

_Sans vie,_

_Sans espoir,_

_Pourquoi dois-je essaye,_

He desperately wanted to know just what the words signified, but he didn’t happen to carry around a French to English dictionary with him, so he’d just have to ponder over it until he could find one. He quickly ran back to his bag and yanked out the first notebook he saw to copy the phrases onto it for future reference.

Successfully jotted down from his impressive memory, he trudged back to the music room with the notebook in his face, glaring at the words as he attempted to decode it with the information he didn’t have. It was beyond frustrating, but more prominent thoughts went striking through his mind like lightning, demanding his theories.

The loudest of which being ‘what the hell does all of this mean?’ The mansion, the owner, the music…what _is it_?

He didn’t have a chance at answering any of those questions, so he settled to focus on the one at hand—why this piece never came together. Maybe if he knew what the composer was trying to say, or what they were so disappointed with, he could better understand the scribbled notes, even if he couldn’t translate them. Not that Louis a big shot composer or anything—he’d truthfully never created any original pieces in his life—but he knew good work when he saw it, and this was magnificent.

Louis didn’t think he’d ever be able to speak to the composer now, because judging by the French, the current owner of the house was ruled out as the culprit. Unless more than a singular resident existent within the vastness of the estate. That sharp "get the fuck out" Louis had received last night had been perfectly pronounced to its last English syllable, so the unknown genius of French descent would unfortunately remain a mystery…at least for the time being.

In the midst of his ever so curious inner ramblings, Louis had unexpectedly finished corralling all of the sheet music into their intended order, and the time had promptly arrived to look them over once more with a newly fulfilled and proper perspective. He stretched his arms above his head and cracked his knuckles with a pleased sigh, standing to shrug his jacket off his shoulders and rest it on the piano. He walked back to scoop up all the sheet music, and kindly returned them to their rightful place on the amazingly wide and intricate music rack.

He spread the papers out a bit to make everything look how it probably had before—before the musician had gotten a surge of rage and shoved all the music off the rack, that is. In fact, Louis is willing to bet that particular piece entitled _Vie à L'Intérieur_ was what caused the paper carpet in the first place. The clear and obvious frustration and irritation carved into in the edits would propel _anyone_ to slap their hands on one side of the rack, and swipe them all the way across.

The angry musician’s forehead probably fell to play the middle C, D, and E notes at once in defeat, and they probably kicked at the sheets on the floor and slid them around in the heat of their passionate and wanton debacle; all to end as abruptly as it had begun—in the deafening slam of the music room door, and an indignant stomp up the stairs.

So the composer and musician were the same person, then. And they’d been here somewhat recently, or these pages would be irreparably dust-encrusted. A thrilling plot twist to Louis’ thought train of deduction, and now the only question was if the person that wrote these beautiful pieces, and the man that had snarled at him last night, were one in the same. Whoever it was, Louis would never rest until he complimented their unchallengeable talent...and additionally begged for the secrets of their foreign side notes.

Louis spent well over three hours in the music room, very quietly plucking strings and pressing keys as he explored the instruments. He thought it was odd how quiet he was trying to be now, because apparently screaming out into an only _possibly_ empty mansion was okay, but playing music was taking it a step too far. Too invasive. He could bust in private properties and flick faucets on as he dirtied rags, but playing someone’s instruments was far more personal than that, and Louis didn’t feel all that great doing it.

The giant harp kept redirecting his wandering focus to it, so he approached the artful instrument and gave its strings a tentative strum. The mere scales it sung were pure beauty incarnate, and he wished he had taken up harp in school instead of piano, but it’s not as though you see one of those every day.

If the French, or at least French-speaking, composer and musician could _actually_ play all of these instruments to a decent degree of fluency, Louis would submissively bow down before them. It seemed like such an impossibility that these were all regularly used, but if they were, Louis was currently in the not-so-humble abode of a musical _god_ , and felt entirely unworthy to touch, let alone look, at any of the glorious musical relics surrounding him.

With all that in mind, Louis scurried out to grab his entire bag and come back, taking a seat at the piano stool and ripping his sheet music notebook out from his rumpy sack of a pack. He couldn’t take any of these precious works with him—that would be worse than stealing the Declaration of Independence—but he _could_ copy it all down to learn later. If he even had the skill to replicate it, of course.

Louis had been told since middle school that he’d been blessed with the gift of the keys, and was thus inclined to believe it, but the pieces before him were far beyond his current level of mastery. He would hold these works up to that of Beethoven and Chopin, he shits you not. It was going to take him a great deal of time to copy all of this down, and he didn’t have an infinite amount, so he closed the piano and got started right away.

He was four pages deep into a noticeably simpler piece titled _Year Endless_ when he found another side note worth shifting his eyes to.

_I just wish…_

“What?” Louis asked out loud, questioning whether it was supposed to be unfinished or not. “You just wish what?”

Louis squinted his eyes at the penmanship and snagged _Vie à L'Intérieur_ off the rack to compare it, and yup. “Without a doubt,” he mused in confusion. Why were some written in French and others in English? There’s no language to musical notes. It’ll always be played the same no matter what. Is he ignorant for thinking so? Was he missing something crucial?

He shrugged and continued to copy the English one, putting the angry piece back and furthermore putting it out of his mind. If he still had time, he would get whatever he could out of that one, or he’d come back tomorrow. Maybe he could just keep returning day after day, until he’d explored every nook and cranny this mansion has to offer.

He finished the last note and flipped through his six completed pages, checking everything twice to make sure it was an exact copy, and closing the notebook with satisfaction. He would attempt this doosie first thing tomorrow at school if the music room was open; if it wasn’t, he would wait until lunch.

He stuffed his notebook harboring the stolen—but not taken—musical transcription back into his bag, and slung the whole thing over his shoulder. Lifting his wristwatch to his face, Louis noted that it was already seven o’clock, which was a bit concerning, but he’d stayed out way longer last night, and nobody at home had noticed then, so…

He decided to make one more stop into an uncharted room before he would take his leave, and he figured the next one over would do just fine. He closed the music room’s door as quietly as possible, in case one loud sound would shatter the imaginary spell of serenity, and set off toward the new treasure chest of a room.

This one turned out to be a library of sorts, consisting of bookshelves that stacked to the ceiling and jammed to the brim with faded and presumably Victorian era works of literature. Cobwebs were irritatingly abundant, and Louis flailed his way through at least five of them during his first attempt down a corridor, so no thanks.

He swiftly backed out the way he came and took a different route, this time holding his arm out in front of him and pointedly waving it up and down to block all unwanted contact with sticky substances.

The row opened up to reveal a fancy round table with a fancy pen and an abandoned leatherbound... _diary_ on it? “No, I can’t,” he reasoned, thinking himself a lunatic for having more guilt over reading someone’s sheet music than their personal and private journal. He supposed that meant he could be labeled a true musician.

Of course, he didn’t know if it even _was_ a journal, so there was no harm in checking, right? Louis made himself promise that if the book happened to be what he thought it was, he’d close it right away. Totally.

Louis took slow steps to the table and pulled out a chair, lowering himself down and leaving the book right where it was, fearing the writer may remember the exact position and condition he’d left it in. He untied the strip of leather that surrounded it and gingerly opened the cover, leaning over to behold a passage with uniquely scrawled words that suspiciously compared to the musician's lettering style.

_24th of December, Year 18Endless ~_

_No matter the distance or pace at which I run, with every corner I thoughtlessly round, I see him. Perpetually twirling within the miniature tornados of leaves, and enticing me to have this dance once more, all the while ensnared in the trickeries of night. What hideous and sad visions are these. Alas, I do not aimlessly wander the streets any longer, lest I torture myself mad with the unjustly visible, audible, and cursedly near tangible fragmented apparitions of him that manifest in excess from my unending stagnancy of a memory. One such that I can spare on no other existence than his._

_In every twinkling star flicked across the sole sky I have, every wavering flicker of a flame in every candle I possess, encompassing every speck of light in my life, he stands just beyond, and my darkness will not touch him. His radiance cannot be erased or beset, for if my love were here, he would ne’er permit it. So I alone bear the crushing weight of absence, the unspeakable ache of solitude in that I were the last_ ~~_living_~~ _creature in this world._

_This country is not far enough away from that polluted stain. No stretch of land or time holds the welcomed audacity to precipitate the oblivion that I so shamefully crave. Since I am left with no deserved haven to seek, and no—_

Louis slammed the book shut and frantically re-tied the string when he heard the jarring and unmistakable sound of movement upstairs. He had to leave, and he had to do it now.

Louis couldn’t give a shit about the heedless kamikaze ruckus he created whilst scrambling out of the mansion premises; and once safely atop the grass, he tripped around in the dark until he grasped the cold metal of his bicycle. He then took a small leap of faith to mount it properly, and used both legs to launch him down the hill he’d climbed prior, still-fucked-up ankle be damned.

The night air was inordinately cold against his skin, and he realized with unfiltered dread that it was a product of leaving his damn jacket on the damn piano. The only thing Louis had going for him was his Mom thankfully not being the type to write his name on the inside tags of his clothes, so he didn’t leave his identity behind, but this was still terrible…wasn’t it?

Aside from his selfish concerns, his mind was still strongly fixated on the haunting words he’d read on the page. Initially, Louis had assumed that the writer of the entry and the writer of the music, in addition to the owner of the mansion, were all the same person. However, if the ‘Year 18Endless’ phrase referred to the 1800s like it alluded to, that congruent unity ruled itself right out of all feasibility.

So then why was the music piece he’d copied into his notebook so eerily similar in wording and aesthetic? And what was a ridiculously old journal doing on a table for no reason? Other than for breaking Louis’ frail heart, of course. He had unashamedly cried as he’d been dragged down that path of raw and cutting emotions. Such negative feelings that the poor writer had to have been infected and plagued with to sit him down one night, and scrawl out a beautiful tragedy like that.

What Louis assumed to be a man expressing his undying love for another man hit him from all sorts of angles, but one of the passage’s lines stood out in particular.

That line of course being the one where the writer had etched out the word ‘living’ while referring to himself as the last creature in the world. If his pain was so crippling that he couldn’t even identify himself as alive, then at least he doesn’t have to be alone anymore, because now Louis’ heart was positively shattering into a million pieces for the faceless victim of loss.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the long dead writer of the entry, quickening his speed because for now, he wanted to get as far away from that hurt as he could. “I’m so sorry.”

 

~~~

 

Harry had awoken from his everyday death-like slumber the minute the sun had passed over the horizon, but when he’d come to, he’d instantly known the blood-dripper was in the house again. Since Harry is still without a name to put to the scent, that’s what the boy was going to be until further notice.

Harry waited until he was calm enough to potentially face the blood-dripper without impulsively claiming his neck. When he had regained his iconic control, he climbed the stairs to the trapdoor, lighting candles as he went with his Zippo lighter. Fancy things, these…

He whacked the door upward to flip the heavy rug right over with it, but he stupidly forgot the sheer volume of what that action creates, and when he heard frantic and rabbit-like scuttling on the floor beneath him, he knew the human had been spooked. “ _Fuck_ ,” he lowly whined in disappointment, climbing his way out regardless of the panicked human below. The boy’s comfort levels were irrelevant to him, he had a glimpse to try and catch.

Unfortunately, wherever the human had been was close enough to the front doors that he was out of the mansion before Harry could even get to the second floor. After taking a moment to feel sorry for himself, Harry detected a lingering scent hanging in the air, and he followed it down to the music room. Upon entering, he was reasonably taken aback by the spotless condition of the floor, but he would address that secondly. He had a forgotten jacket to inhale first.

The boy’s regular aroma was the perfect teaser for the taste of his blood, and it did the full experience great justice. Harry can say this because his fangs dropped down just from taking in the boy’s natural scent, and that’s impressive in and of itself, but especially for a vampire as old as Harry.

“What’s going on this time?” Martin griped, working on buttoning his cuff links because he’d been unceremoniously awakened again with little time for morning (evening) preparations.

“He came back,” Harry grunted, sitting at his warmed piano seat and glaring at his music in suspicion. It had been picked up and organized, but why? For what purpose? Maybe he’d thank blood-dripper for it someday if he kept coming back, but it was quite an unnecessary deed for him to do. It probably took the human at least ten minutes, whereas Harry could do it in seconds.

He sighed and walked into his library to fetch a sheet of blank paper and a pen, then made his way to the kitchen, jacket in hand. He sat down at the table and scribbled a note, snapping his fingers at Martin until it was taken out of his hand. “Take this. Go tape it outside the front doors...or nail it, I really don’t care,” he said with a shrug as Martin flew off to complete the task.

Harry took one more long whiff of the jacket and decided to take it with him—parting with it seemed a difficult and pointless endeavor. He took it back into the music room where he’d found it, and where he was going to be all night until the sun rose. _Maybe I’ll actually get Vie à L'Intérieur done this time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm only doing one chapter a day. It pains me because I'm known for so much more, but this one is huge, IT SHOULD be okay. But sorry if you're a rapid reader. You can count on one a day without a doubt.  
> Also, ill add that divorce was still extremely hard in that time period. You used to need proof of abuse or infedelity, but good luck presenting it. Sexist system. Irreconcilable differences came up in the reagan era in 1969 or 70, but that was only california that year. Many states didnt follow suit until the 80s, and im pretty positive that Idaho was one of them.


	3. Impossible Stalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K, so the piano song Year Endless that's in here is:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8A4HaR9LJzI  
> It's Rue des Cascades by Yann Tiersen, but this is a cover done by Dave Thomas. I like this version because the live one of Yann has a woman singing in the middle (with a real shaky voice no less), but feel free to watch both. This is what it is for now as Harry wrote it, but there will be more links in the future with Louis' renditions.  
> Important note: I know that's not what deceptive cadences are, and I know there are none in that song. DO NOT SHOOT ME. In my head, the FEEL of this song and that term matched enough to use it. So I humbly apologize to the musicians, I know damn well that a lot of that is bullshit. However, this is the song. Now you know what you're listening to.

“Mr. Carey?” Louis called, slapping on the music room door because he’d arrived an hour early and it was popsicle degrees outside. Louis knew that Mr. Carey usually got to school early too, so he’d snuck out of his window and biked to the ever so dreary Red Hawk High before Dad-Troy could barge in and tell him to go sweep the floors.

The door to the music room slowly opened, and a scarfed and bundled Mr. Carey poked his head out with a coffee in one hand, and multiple sheets of music crumpled in the other. He was a stupidly tall, scarily skinny twig of a man, with slightly greying feathered hair and mustache, but a youthful face that didn't seem to desire aging along with them. His bright brown eyes were enlarged nearly twice their size behind his iconically ginormous square glasses, and Louis had never been happier to behold his glory.

“Oh, my. Louis, what is it? Why’ve you come at this hour?” he inquired, quickly opening the door and ushering Louis inside.

“I just came across something for the piano, and I’d like to practice if you don’t mind. I do better when there are no students around, and this is the only piano I have access to besides Niall’s,” he said in a rush, already retrieving his notebook because he knew Mr. Carey would adamantly encourage the concept.

“Can I take a look at it?” the teacher asked with interest, pushing his enormous glasses higher on his nose with his middle finger and placing the hand back around his mug for warmth.

“Yeah, of course! Here, check it out,” Louis said, walking over to Mr. Carey’s desk with him and turning the notebook around so the teacher could read it. “You see these deceptive cadences?” he asked, pointing to all the oddities in the piece with a giddy heart.

“Oh, wow, look at _this_ ,” Mr. Carey said, pointing to the multiple canons in the sequence. “Where did you find this, it’s _brilliant_ ,” he asked, looking up at his student with fascination in his eyes.

“Isn’t it?” Louis squealed, snatching the notebook off the desk and skipping over to the piano. “I found it. Doesn’t matter where, but I copied it down from someone’s written notes. I’m not going to try and take credit or anything, obviously. I just have to learn it.”

“By all means,” Mr. Carey pressed, coming up to look over his student’s shoulder and help him if he needed it. “Play it how you want, okay? A piece like this, regardless of how straightforward it appears, is made for interpretation. In true art, it is the _feeling_ that counts, not the sound. Play around with the sostenuto and sustain pedals, yeah? See what you can come up with,” he suggested.

“So you're telling me to take everything I've learned in this whole class and throw it out the window?” Louis asked skeptically.

Mr. Carey simply smiled and sipped his coffee, almost appearing guilty to admit it. “Yes, but not without cause. You're the only one that knows how to fly,” he praised, having always considered Louis to be a prodigy of his.

Louis was speechless at the declaration, and he bit his lower lip as he grinned, turning to the piano with excitement and taking a deep breath in preparation. His fingers immediately danced across the keys with vigilant concentration, trying first to play it how it was written before he started getting creative.

It was difficult to tackle because every time the piece would seem like it was coming to a close, there would be another page to turn, and the conclusive chords would flawlessly flow into something more, and the tempo was almost impossible to keep up with. Not because it was fast, but because it was unpredictable. It was as though the composer had been entirely unsatisfied with any ending he attempted, and kept pushing for more.

With only a few understandable slip-ups and hiccups, Louis finally ended the piece on a note that seemed so…out of place and open ended, and he turned to his teacher in confusion. “What do you think the composer was trying to portray with this?” he asked as he turned the page in his notebook to see if he’d missed the actual ending.

“What was the title again?” Mr. Carey asked, chuckling when Louis slapped the pages back to the front.

“ _Year Endless,_ ” Louis said, looking back to his teacher as the man pursed his lips in thought. He walked back to sit on top of the nearest desk and scratched at his mustache while he contemplated.

“The very nature of deceptive cadences are to deceive the listener. To give the illusion that a climax is underway, and then diving into something else to keep them guessing. The very number of them suggests that whomever wrote this was specifically brooding over waiting for something that would never come. An end, closure, or a resolution to their troubles. That every time things seemed okay, or done, something else would pop up and prevent that conclusion,” he theorized, continuing when Louis blinked his big curious eyes at him.

“And then we have the canons. A canon may repeat to add complexity and incorporate more notes, but they’re always the same. It’s the same repetition, no matter how complicated it may sound. This tells me that the writer also deals with the same events on a loop; things might change, but the important and main conflict is always stationary. In essence, the composer is haunted by the consistency or constant state of something that won’t ever end, and even when it finally will, it still won’t feel right. It’ll still feel incomplete…at least that’s what I get it from it, anyway,” Mr. Carey finished, sipping his coffee and flippantly shrugging his shoulders.

Louis closed his mouth that had been hanging open like a fish, and gave a short bubbly laugh. “Mr. Carey…you’re a genius,” he breathed, looking back and forth between the teacher and the music. “I can’t believe you understood all of it so well.”

“Now, hang on. I can’t be absolutely sure. But music tends to speak a language that only other musicians can truly hear. Whereas most might hear pretty sounds, fellow artists may be able to understand and accurately judge the intention…but that’s in no way always the case. This is what it says to me, but you should think about it for yourself, too.”

“No, I feel the same,” Louis agreed, sitting back against the piano and crossing his arms. “I just didn’t know how to put it like that.”

“With practiced years, comes practiced mastery,” the teacher mused, sliding off the student desk to return to his own. “You have thirty more minutes until school starts. Keep playing it, Louis. Let’s hear what you turn it into.”

“Thanks, Mr. Carey,” he gushed, cracking his knuckles and resting his fingers on the keys to commence his second attempt. _What can’t you get away from?_ he thought to the composer, the repeated use of the word “endless” inside that mansion filtering through his mind, leaving him with an overload of unanswerable questions. _What won’t end?_

 

\---

 

“Oi, where are you going?” Niall asked, running backwards to catch up to Louis whom he’d just passed in the hallway whilst en route to the cafeteria.

“Oh! Sorry, Niall, I’m going to Mr. Carey’s class. I’ve got this amazing piece I’m working on, you’re welcome to come join if you want,” he suggested, giving Niall a pat on the shoulder in apology for nearly blowing him off entirely.

“Yeah, just give a bit, I’ve gotta go talk to someone real quick. Here, take my lunch,” he said, handing Louis the brown, crinkly bag of withstandable food. “Back in a jiffy!” he announced, reversing his momentum and propelling himself forward.

“See ya!” Louis shouted after him, practically skipping to the music room to delve into his newest obsession. He had this romantic ideal in his head that the mansion owner/avid musician/composition genius was some unbelievably beautiful specimen, and Louis would nurture the tortured soul back to health. All the while wooing him with his miraculous understanding and comprehension of the man’s creations, and eventually solving the age-old question of _Vie à L'Intérieur_ , giving it the perfect spark it had been missing.

None of that would ever happen, but Louis’ mind is his own to dream in.

“Back so soon, eh?” Mr. Carey teased as Louis zoomed past him to get to the piano.

“Sixth period is too far away, and it’s full of students, and I hate that,” Louis explained eloquently, sliding his butt across the piano stool and just barely slowing down in time before he’d fall right off the other side.

“Do you have many friends here, Louis?” Mr. Carey inquired, stealing his focus because it was such a loaded question.

“Yeah, I have loads of friends,” Louis drawled sarcastically, fetching his notebook and opening it to his new idol’s piece. “I really appreciate the ones that ran me off the cliff of death,” he added bitterly, his teacher gasping at the remark.

“The team again?” he asked solemnly, hanging his head when Louis nodded.

“They think it’s really fun to make my life hell—even more so than it already is at home—all because I’m…” he trailed, having faith in his music teacher, but also recognizing that hate can come from really nice people.

“I am too,” Mr. Carey said softly, sharing an intense look with his pupil when he almost broke his neck to meet his eyes.

Before anything else could be said, Niall busted through the door and loudly announced what he apparently thought was his painfully awaited presence, and Mr. Carey cleared his throat before awkwardly taking a sip of his coffee.

Louis’ eyes were still boring into the teacher’s, and he needed him to know he wasn’t in any danger. “Niall is too,” he said, Mr. Carey’s eyebrows raising a fraction in surprise.

“Niall’s what?” the blonde asked obliviously, throwing an arm over Louis’ shoulders as he shoved his way onto the seat.

Niall then buried his face in the notebook to look over the musical notes he didn’t even understand, and Mr. Carey gave Louis the tiniest wink before returning to his desk and leaving them alone.

“So what are you wooing me with today, Louis?” Niall asked, taking a bite of an apple he’d reached back to fish through his bag for.

“Well, Niall, it’s called _Year Endless_ , and I can one hundred percent guarantee that you’ll be endlessly wooed by the time I’m done—or your money back,” he said flirtatiously, reveling in the bubbly laughter it summoned from Niall.

“Oh, Frank. Oh, Frank. My lips are hot. Oh, kiss my hot lips,” the blonde wailed theatrically, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and referring of course to the iconic scene in the M.A.S.H motion picture.

“Get bent, Niall, there’s an echo,” Louis gasped to play along with the scene, jokingly scandalized. “You listening?” he demanded lightheartedly, finally getting down to business when Niall nodded his eager head and sat normally.

Niall listened for a few moments in silence as his best friend ripped out one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, and he shared an incredulously impressed look with Mr. Carey over the piano, clapping Louis on the back with pride as he went bananas on the instrument. “Holy shit.”

 

\---

 

“Really was amazing, you know,” Niall reminded as they walked to their lockers after lunch. Unfortunately their lockers were in opposite directions, and Niall had a demon of a teacher whose only valid excuse for tardiness was death, so Louis had to face his journey alone.

“You’re not just saying that? I can’t even imagine how much better the composer is at it than me,” Louis said nonchalantly, truthfully soaring from the compliment.

“Okay, maybe…but don’t you think that this is the perfect opportunity to get better? You have this faceless teacher who could possibly serve as your competition without even knowing it. It’s like me and tennis, right? I didn’t even get that good until I was always head to head with the same person. Competition breeds progress with both parties—pushes you to be better, and all that jazz. Where’d you find the music, anyway? You said there’s a bunch more, but you never mentioned where it is,” Niall pressed, hoping to get some actual answers this time.

“I must say, that was a very mature little speech you just made,” Louis laughed, tactfully avoiding the question again. “Shit. Gotta go, Niall. See ya!” he called, breaking off from their stroll and jogging to his locker before the bell could ring.

“Womps. Alright, later,” Niall said grudgingly, watering his budding suspicions and watching them grow like a magic bean stalk. Just what was Louis up to lately?

 

~~~

 

Louis was almost done collecting all this things for fifth period when he saw the team out of the corner of his anxious eye, but the craziest thing happened. Instead of approaching, grabbing, dragging, and violating him as usual, they instead widened their eyes and turned back the way they came without even a squeak of threat thrown in his vulnerable direction.

Louis looked around in confusion, and he dropped his mouth open when he saw Mr. Anderson leaning against the wall by the drinking fountain, staying true to his earlier promise to look out for him.

Nothing was said—though Louis had loads to say—he simply stared as Mr. Anderson pushed off the wall and walked back to his class with the tiniest of waves. If this guardian system was how high school life was going to be every day now, then Louis officially had this thing called “faith,” which he’d never felt before at Red Hawk, and words can’t describe how grateful he was for the teacher’s selfless involvement.

Of course, this meant that the team would likely find other ways to torment him, and in different locations; but maybe if he told Mr. Anderson where those were too, he could keep the security blanket with him. _Thank you_ , he mentally transmitted to the teacher, fully aware the address would not actually reach him, and reminding himself to voice his audible gratitude when they both had the time.

 

\---

 

“Think you could get away with coming over tonight?” Niall asked as Louis was unlocking his bike.

“You crazy? Dad’s been furious that I haven’t been around lately, and Mom is probably depressed that she has to do my workload, I gotta go back at some point,” he said, twisting his back side to side to crack his spine before hopping on his bicycle.

“Wait, what? What do you mean? Where have you been going?” Niall interrogated, squinting his eyes and leaning forward to get in Louis’ face.

 _Oh shit_ , Louis cursed, angry with himself for outing his escapades. “Nowhere really,” he tried to say with confidence to the very unconvinced and skeptical Niall. _God dammit_.

“What are you not telling me? I don’t get it,” the blonde muttered, a little on the irked side because they had always told each other everything, but now there seemed to be something huge that Louis was keeping from him.

“I’ll tell you eventually,” Louis hurried to promise, only furthering Niall’s conviction that he was right to suspect his best friend in the first place.

“So there _is_ something? You’re not just being weird? What the hell is happening?” Niall whined, heaving a harsh sigh in and out of his lungs.

“ _Please_ don’t worry about it?” Louis asked in a high-pitched and unfairly adorable tone, winning Niall over by means of the pleading sparkle in his eyes that had served him well for two straight years.

“This isn’t over, Loubear,” Niall said sternly, ruffling Louis’ hair and taking his leave. He knew when to accept defeat, but he wasn't going to let Louis off forever.

Louis closed his eyes and dropped his head in relief, snapping out of it and mounting his bike to return to his secret getaway.

Louis had so many things to keep in mind, and here's a few:

He had to act consistently natural or Niall was going to become insufferable about “the truth.” He had to start getting home earlier or Father-Troy would let him and his Mother have it. He had to finish all of his homework before he went to bed so he didn't fuck himself over the next day, and he _had_ to uncover as much of the mansion’s mysteries he could every evening. Before sundown. Without fail.

Is this clusterfuck daily schedule even sustainable? Just how long could he uphold a system such as this? He figured there had to be some way to decently balance everything, and _not_ give anyone questionable suspicions of his whereabouts...but how? He could really use a clone right about now, but he’ll settle for upping his game.

“Where you goin’, fairy?” he heard just as he began to pedal away from the racks.

“Going home, Troy, surely that’s legal. Or did you want to come over too? I’ve got a small bed, but we could probably fit,” he goaded, cringing at his detrimental response to the instigation. _Louis, what are you doing?_

“I don’t see any teachers around to help you this time, you cheese-eater. You know what happens to narcs, right? You can snitch for protection at lunch all you want, but outside of school? You’re mine,” he sneered, snapping his fingers to commence Dante and Jesse’s capture.

“No, stop,” Louis cried, a terrible feeling brewing in his gut when the group led him toward the back of the school where nobody was present to see a thing. Troy caught up on Louis’ bike and rode around them in a circle, throwing jeers and threats to the powerless Louis like he was giving out Halloween candy.

Louis was likely to come out of this with some fractured bones if he wasn’t careful, and by that he means if he didn’t try to fight back. That’s how it goes with bullies. If you lie on the ground where they put you and take the beatings they bestowed upon you, they will always lose interest and give up; but if you stand up for yourself, or worse yet, try to get some of your own hits in? That’s how you die.

Troy jumped off Louis’ bike and let it crash to the ground, giving their area a good sweep with his eyes to verify they were alone. Once their privacy was confirmed, Troy slammed Louis into the brick wall by his neck, digging his short nails into the flesh for good measure.

Louis coughed and choked as his windpipes suffered critical damages, but he wasn’t going to beg. He wasn’t going to grovel. However, amidst his courageous resolve, Louis had to admit that the strength of Troy’s hand was getting unnecessarily fatal, and he began to fear the ape might actually kill him this time.

“So, faggot,” Troy hatefully addressed, tightening his already vice-like grip on Louis’ neck and grinning when his face started to turn purple. Louis was valiantly beating on his arms to loosen the hold, but he was completely helpless, and everyone here knew that. “I thought you would have liked getting choked,” Troy purred, pressing their bodies together and trapping him against the wall.

Louis knew the true degree in Troy’s pleasure from this, and it sickened him to the core. The football captain licking and biting his bottom lip when he shoved their pelvises together was pretty telltale by itself, but even more obvious was the undeniable yearning in Troy’s eyes to kiss the “devil lips” that were so maddeningly close to his own.

Louis was quickly losing all trains of thought and footing in reality, but just before he would lose consciousness, Troy reluctantly pulled away and let him crash to the pavement.

Louis hacked and coughed on the ground, pushing himself onto his hands and knees to show valor, desperately trying to get decent air flow back into his deprived lungs. He was only given roughly five seconds of recuperation before the first kick to his stomach came, knocking him not only onto his side, but propelling him backward with the unnaturally strong force of it.  

“It’s what you deserve!” Troy roared preemptively, but to Louis, it only sounded like he was trying to convince himself. There may be some very small— _very_ _deep_ —part of Troy that feels bad about this; clearly it’s not prominent enough to stop the attacks, but sometimes it almost broke through the layers of the cold-hearted abuse. The wavering tone he would speak with when he damned Louis to hell, and his incredibly rare but almost apologetic gazes all played a part in their dynamic and how they interacted.

Louis fought not to cry like his existence depended on it, but it was hard to keep the wails in feeling as distraught as he did. It wasn’t even the pain that was getting to him, it was the crushing gravity of the mentality that came with being so brutally overpowered. Louis couldn’t help his mind traveling to his loveless Father, a cruel man who had demolished every bridge of trust Louis had ever tried to build. He thought hard about everyone else that had ever given him scorn in his life, and how the pain being inflicted by the toes of these assholes’ shoes just might finally measure up to the pain in his heart, and his emotions all came out at once. They came out in tortured sobs of devastation and desperate whines for his attackers to stop, and the complexity of his relationship to Troy he’d mentioned earlier reared its puzzling head again.

Troy had been completely fine watching the faggot get annihilated, but he had a moment of hesitation when the back of Louis’ shirt rode up to display old scars on his back. Scars like that only come from angry Fathers with leather belts, and Troy understood the pressure and scare factor of a Father better than anybody...and suddenly this felt terrible. If Louis got the same shit at home, then he already knew what real pain was, and _at least_ for today, he didn’t need to be reminded. “Guys, come on, that’s enough,” he ordered, his lackeys backing off but immediately voicing their protest.

“Why? He hasn’t nearly had enough yet,” Dante argued, grabbing Louis by the hair and yanking him into a sitting position, poising his fist to strike Louis’ face the second Troy gave the go-ahead.

“You really wanna get suspended? Look at him, he got the point. I’m not gonna have some fairy cutting me out of the season. We’re seniors now. Football _always_ comes first,” he scolded, somehow getting through to his comrades with their simplistically prioritized logic.

“We’ll get you next time,” Dante growled, shoving Louis back onto the ground by his head.

Louis just barely caught the fall that had the potential to crack his skull with his hands, and he laid in a pathetic heap while Troy told his buddies to go bring their car around because he didn’t want to walk. It worked, and they all skipped off, high-fiving their successful punishment, and now only Troy and Louis remained behind the school.

“You should be thanking me,” Troy muttered darkly, because no matter what, he still hated Louis more than anything in this world.

“I should be killing you,” Louis argued with a growl, spitting blood from his mouth and attempting to sit up through the pain of his everything. “You’re the rock bottom _worst_ of our kind.”

“Let’s get one thing _straight_ ,” Troy snapped, gripping onto Louis’ collar and forcing the beautiful boy to look at him. “Like _me_ , for instance...I’m not _gay_ like _you_. We’re not the ‘same.’ We’ll never be the same. You got that? You’re the faggot, not me.”

“Then leave me alone,” Louis pleaded, slapping Troy’s hand away and backing up against the wall. “If that’s true, then you’ve nothing to prove. Leave me the fuck out of it,” he choked, coughing into his fist and wincing from the affronted cramp in his lungs.

“I still hate you,” Troy reminded, getting distracted by the honking of Jesse’s truck around the corner.

“Ditto,” Louis said tonelessly, another coughing fit directly following his words.

Troy felt he had more to say, but his friends were waiting for him, so without another word, he jogged away from the scene and left Louis to waste away in his pitiful condition.

 

~~~

 

“Regretful Football-Troy really fucks up the balance of life,” Louis sighed, checking his luckily unbroken watch to note the time. It was only four, so he had many hours left to painfully explore if he got to the mansion soon; but with these new ailments, he may not arrive as soon as he’d hoped.

Nevertheless, he grimaced himself into a standing position, held up by shakily weakened legs, and ever so slowly lifted his bike up, situating himself on the unforgiving bike seat and setting off to the forest. If he died when he got to the mansion, at least it would be somewhere interesting. Behind a high school just really wasn’t an ideal location for last moments to be had in.

He purposefully zoned out as he pedaled, forcing himself to think about anything and everything besides the pain. It was an odd day if you put it up next to all the others of the week; a blue, almost translucent sky bended over him like the top of a snow globe, the softest and pillowiest of clouds distributed tastefully across the expanse that reminded him so much of cotton candy at the fair, and a temperature that was neither cold nor warm, that somehow made him feel as though he were floating through the air.

It could have been his adrenaline and overactive heartbeat that affected his body’s ability to wage the degrees of the air, but it was pleasant nonetheless. The slow-moving traffic that offered spurts of The Grateful Dead, Curtis Mayfield, and the occasional Black Sabbath on their radios eased his soul, and he pedaled faster when open windows revealed a song he liked, using it as motivation to keep him going.

He noticed his untied shoelace when his bike pedal did.

Heart leaping into his throat, he squeezed his eyes shut as he timbered like a redwood tree at the hands of an unnaturally muscular and secretly gay lumberjack—he could really use those muscles to catch him right about now. The impact of the pavement to his side took his breath away, and the palms of his hands suffered the worst, already bleeding heavily when they hadn’t even gotten the chance to notice they were hurt yet.

He wrestled with the bike pedal and his curséd shoelace, decided to take the shoe off entirely when every car that passed him swerved dramatically and honked at his defeated form to get the fuck out of the way. Louis snapped at every onlooker he locked eyes with, hopping on one foot and trying to manhandle his bike into the ditch lined with bushes so thick you’d need a giant laser beam to blast through them.

He began to feel the full force of what his fall had done to his already battered body, and he couldn’t even be pleased when he finally freed his Adidas Americana from its metallic clutches. Damn Adidas for making a shoe with such rebellious laces. Don’t take him for a fool, he _always_ double-knots his shoes.

He guided the culprit back onto his foot using the tips of his fingers only, noting that the skin of his hands was peeled over quite enough without any extra help from his carelessness. He shuddered at the thick layers of his hands that were well on their way off his body, and put his bag back onto his shoulders with ultra care, pinching the handlebars of his untrustworthy bike to remount it.

He waited until no cars were coming before kicking off the ground, just in case he would keel over and really die this time, and continued his historically terrible ride to the forest. The elevation dipped and climbed as he got further into the woodsy part of town, no longer trailed by cars who angrily swerved around him like he should be going faster or something. They can eat dirt.

The road got thinner and thinner as he rolled his winding way into the thick forest, and after a good long while of nothing but peaceful sunrays and the choir practice of birds, he was finally able to pull off onto the dirt path that would lead him to the mansion gate. The hardest and most trying journey of his life had come to its coveted end. He could have cried.

He slithered his way off his bike seat and walked it up the final hill, feeling like King Kong on the Empire State Building when he finally reached the top. He resisted the urge to beat on his chest and rip out indistinct ape calls, and simply let his bicycle fall—he might have pushed it—to the ground, dragging his feet across the soft grass of the yard to reach the short staircase that led to the doors.

He squinted in suspicion as those very doors came into view, valiantly climbing up the six concrete steps with the minuscule assistance of the black, metal hand railings, reaching his bloodied hand out and grasping a taped paper under the left bat knocker between his fingers, sharply yanking it sideways to rip the tape off without tearing the page in the process—it was likely he would have done just that—and brought it to his face to read the words...in that same fucking handwriting:

~

_To my stalker,_

_Thanks for cleaning my mess._ _Your jacket is on the kitchen table._

_Be gone by sundown._

_~_

“Wizard,” Louis muttered tiredly, folding the note and shoving it in his teeth to free his hands until he could put it down. Apparently he was welcome, so in he went.

This time he didn’t even flip a coin, just marched straight into the mansion and threw his bag down by the door, spitting the paper out with impressive distance, and passing up all the adventurous opportunities, taking himself instead toward the bathroom to score any first-aid agents that might exist. He didn’t remember seeing a whole lot of them (anything), but maybe he hadn’t looked in the right places. Regardless, he would search this whole place up and down for a Band-Aid, and he had never been happier to see one when he finally did.

There in the same cabinet he’d discovered the rag, where there definitely hadn’t been anything before, was a wide assortment of gauze pads, Neosporin tubes, medical tape, Band-Aids, and Ace Bandages. It was beautiful. Only Niall had ever come close to understanding Louis this well, but this had to top even his ability. Louis knew the owner hadn’t had these before—at least in this cabinet—and as embarrassing as it was that they’d been placed here specifically for him, it also held elements of flattery that had him giggling like a patient under laughing gas at the dentist.

He got to work on his wounds that needed the most attention, forgoing his external and internal bruises because purple skin might as well be his winter coat at this point. Running his hands under the creaky faucet had been more painful than he’d anticipated, but he’d gritted his teeth and gotten it over with, applying a generous amount of Neosporin when they’d been decently air-dried, and finally covering the cheese-grater-like injuries. How’s he supposed to play piano with this kind of pain nagging him the whole time?

He did a professional check of his body and stuck Band-Aids where he saw fit like he was playing Whack-a-Mole, and when he knew he wasn’t bleeding from any life-endangering locations, he sulked back into the living room and rounded the couch that was looking more comfortable and inviting by the second.

He carefully sat down and pulled his damaged shirt up over his head, contracting away from the sharp jabs of protest in his shoulder blades, and then trying again. He finally got the shirt off and did his belt next, unhooking the oversized buckle and ripping it out of the loops, dropping it on the wooden floor with a loud clunk.

He inched his way down to lay on his stomach and pulled the blanket hanging off the back of the couch—the moth-eaten item of probably-once-soft wool that was so dusty, Louis feared he might contract the black lung just from having it anywhere near his nose—down to use as a pillow. He didn’t quite get all of it under his head, but that was just as well for his jeopardized health. The thought came into his mind that it probably wasn’t the best move to _sleep_ here uninvited, unwanted, and unprotected—but that note was the only approval he needed, and he wasn’t kidding when he’d said that at least dying here would be interesting.

Louis had long since passed the point of giving a fuck about the sad and pathetic existence he dwells in, so he decided he’d let fate work its magic. The note could realistically be a huge trap he’d just walked into, but it seemed nice enough, so there we have it. He just hoped he would wake up before sundown.

 

~~~

 

Harry tried to stay asleep when he woke up because he felt particularly lazy this evening, but when he rolled over away from his wrist and still smelled the blood-dripper, his eyes shot open whether he wanted them to or not.

He sat up and sniffed around, bringing his wrist rag to his nose and then tasting the air without its interference. No doubt about it, the human was still here. Harry doesn’t understand how he could have made that door note any clearer, but now might be his chance to get some intel on his precious blood’s owner.

He fumbled around for the black trousers made of pure Japanese silk he’d acquired from his time in the oceanic country, and slid them up his cold legs; additionally grabbing a small black fur coat to cover the upper half of his unattractively pasty body. He then took a hair brush to his long and curly hair, tying it behind his neck with a black ribbon and pulling the knot into a bow—because he’s classy. He was always helpless to stop the few side and front pieces that would disconnect and flow down his face, so he pulled them out in advance.

He slid the key he wears around his neck down the back of his coat to hide it, and he didn’t think he could stall anymore now. He took his stairs up to the fourth floor and this time _silently_ opened the trapdoor to climb out. The human’s scent wasn’t moving, and hadn’t since he’d woken up, so apparently he wasn’t snooping around again...but then what was he doing?

Harry made no sound whatsoever on his journey through his house, letting no wooden panel beneath his pale feet utter a squeak or crack so he could lock in his element of surprise. He followed his nose down to the first floor and halted just before he would reach his living room, turning the dimmer lights on as a test for reaction.

Harry knew the human was on the couch even if he couldn’t see him, but whether he was sleeping or not was a different story. Turning the lights on did nothing to warrant a responsive action, so he floated forward to peer over the couch with incredibly uncommon nerves brewing in his lifeless chest.

He furrowed his eyebrows when he laid his eyes on the human’s bandaged skin, and the first visible things he was drawn to were the old scars on his back. He rested his knuckles against his lips in thought as he took note of everything else. Bruises were abundant on his weak body, not to mention a sea of Band-Aids (thanks to Martin’s shopping trip), and he had a mess of shoulder-length, fluffy hair fanning out over his face in a way that prevented Harry from seeing its most likely enjoyable features.

The curve of his body was admittedly pleasurable to gander at, and the tightness of his pants did wonders to shape him just as he was. Harry was furious with himself for lusting after any creature that wasn’t Alexander, but with his love forever gone from this world, the vampire couldn’t help but fly around the couch to sit on his knees beside the boy’s sleeping form. He hadn’t admired another being in over two hundred years, and he was going to revel in the proximity for as long as he could.

The boy’s warm breaths were cascading down his arm and Harry reached the back of his hand to blood-dripper’s nose to catch the air from his lungs, shivering when every exhale temporarily heated his cold skin. He chased more of the delectable warmth by holding his other hand just above the boy’s back, so close that he was no doubt tickling the invisible hairs, and he moved it up and down the human’s spinal column to find the warmest area.

He found the golden spot of body heat radiating from the boy’s neck, and he held both hands cupped before it like the human was a bonfire, and Harry was the lone camper in the woods. Zayn had always told him of new and quirky human traditions every decade or so, and if Harry could eat ‘marshmallows,’ this would be the time wherein he would impale one on a stick and toast it above the human.

Harry tried not to think about the blatant abuse that was painted, splattered, and carved into the innocent, lively creature. It wasn’t his business—but looking at it felt wrong. No human’s blood that delicious could ever possibly flow through an evil host; because of this, Harry’s sure that whatever this boy had endured, he hadn’t deserved it.

Regardless, getting involved with a human and its trifling daily life was not something Harry could ever let himself do, and though this one was indeed a persistent little temptress, his strolls through Harry’s mansion would have to come to an end. Harry would miss the overly curious kitten, but the boy can’t get too attached to this place, or he would find the inhabiting vampire at some point. That’s a major problem for Harry, for if it were to occur, he can’t truly judge what would happen—only what _could_.

Harry leaned in to scent the boy’s delectable neck because he deserves to get his kicks, but even that simple act put them both in danger. His fangs dropped instantly as his mouth watered with thirst, and he froze in place while he tried to contain himself.

Before Harry even noticed his butler behind him, Martin had pulled him away from the human and into the kitchen so fast that the ancient vampire hadn’t had the chance to even attempt resistance. “Master Harry,” he hissed quietly, whipping around to stand between Harry and the hallway. “What is he doing here? And control yourself, would you?”

Any other vampire, and Harry probably would have ripped them in half for coming between him and his meal _while_ disrespecting him, but this was Martin. And Martin was always doing what was best for Harry, so he tried hard to listen to him. “Get me blood. Now,” he ordered, his trusty Martin flying to the fridge and unlocking the padlock that Harry had put on the door last night.

“Should I heat it—”

“Just give it to me,” Harry whisper-screamed, downing the liquid straight from the bag and gagging on its disgusting temperature. He took a few moments to catch his breath as he sprung to life, and worked diligently on being content with the amount he had ingested so he wouldn’t lose himself around the human from needing more—even though he did need more. The situation was doused in peace when Harry finally got himself under control, but a simple word from the living room almost jarred him right back to death:

“Hadrian.”

Harry instantly dropped the empty bag, caught by a quick thinking Martin, and teleported into the room to bend over the couch in offended shock. He waited anxiously for the human to say it again, but no more words came out. The boy was still sound asleep and pushing these little unconscious grunts out of his throat, but “Hadrian” was apparently the only word they would get out of him.

This was unexplainable. Neither Harry nor Martin could deny the crystal clear name that had filtered through the air. A name that Harry hadn’t heard in a very long time, and a name that would have been _impossible_ beyond all reality for this human to know.

 _Impossible_.

So this was either some insanely timed figment of both the vampires’ imaginations, or it was the wildest and most ludicrous coincidence of all time. In all two thousand and eighty-one years of Harry’s sufferable life, never once has a mere chance of fate fucked him up this badly. “What the fuck,” he whispered to the human, still hidden by his hair and the blanket. “What are you? What was that?”

Harry backed up out of sight when the human fidgeted, presumably from the vampire’s gradually loudening whispers. Fearing that he may awaken, Harry dashed back into the kitchen to scribble out another note before he went back underground for another full night of broodish sulking. He hadn’t been out to his garden in days, and he was pretty agitated about it, but he could easily admit this human business was much more interesting.

He had previously made the decision to prohibit the human from ever entering his mansion again, but “Hadrian” changed everything. Until this human’s last dying breath, Harry was going to get to the bottom of this name-calling business, because there had to be some logical explanation as to why it had suddenly slipped out of his mouth. Why the lightly snoring human had uttered Harry’s own name…a name so old that the last person to call him by it had been...  

This wasn't normal. Far too fucking random, and Harry was going to figure out how and why. Until that time, introductory baby steps were the only kind that would get him anywhere with this boy, and he would really need to tone it down if he was expected to make a good impression…from here on out, that is.

He gave Martin an additional to-do list to complete before sunrise, and he waited until his faithful butler left into town before approaching the abused human again.

He set the note he’d written on the coffee table and took one more lengthy gaze at the sleeping beauty, immediately getting overcome with frustration and soundlessly flying up to the fourth floor to go snarl at the world’s cruelness by himself in his room until the sun came up.

“Hadrian…there's no fucking way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for reference, Football-Troy kind of looks like a young Bobby Sherman, and as for Dante...think back to high school, or for some of you, your current group of mutual sufferers. The hottest guy in your entire school. Might be sportsy, might not, but the most drop-dead beautiful piece of ass that walks those halls. Is probably a giant asshole. Yeah, Dante is THAT kid with blonde hair and green eyes.


	4. The House of A Thousand Cultures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first look into the past.

Louis woke with a start, chasing the memory of his dream before it faded away.  Short glimpses of him strolling behind an unknown figure with beautifully waved, chocolate brown hair flashed through his mind until the vision disappeared entirely when he opened his eyes. He sat up in his bed to formally greet the morning, but several things were not quite right with the reality he registered.

The most important factor being that he wasn’t _in_ a bed—he was still sprawled out on the damn mansion couch where he’d crashed yesterday afternoon to “take a nap,” and it seemed to be the next day now, but luckily nothing horrific had happened to him. Another oddity was that he had apparently been given two extra blankets and a pillow from some other couch, and he needed to know who had done it.

He turned his dreary gaze to the coffee table to find even more interesting things on its surface, including a pile of folded clothes to replace the ones he had, a glass of water to quench his average morning thirst, and a shot glass of semi-clear liquid right beside it, accompanied by another note with the composer’s handwriting etched onto it in his loopy cursive style.

Louis reached out to slide the note over, but that act beat several shoed feet and walls of asphalt into his sides all over again, and he crashed back down in defeat. All of the details he’d passed over when he woke up came back, and he looked down his body to observe the bruises he now wore—purple and black medals of surviving another day in Red Hawk High.

With his shirt off, the owner might have actually seen his marks of glory, and maybe that’s what was keeping him alive. No fun in easy pickings, right? Maybe Louis had to be at his peak strength to give a good chase to the maniac who would end his life. Whatever works.

He gave up moving around too much and just reached his arm out to the table, finger-walking the note into his thumb and index finger to avoid contact with his shredded palms, and held it above his face when it was acquired.

~

_Dear Stalker,_

_Here’s some morphine. Please take it, you don’t look too good._

_I needn’t say it, but make yourself at home._

_BE GONE BY SUNDOWN._

_~_

“Morphine?” Louis squeaked, taking the shot glass and twisting it around in his hand. The ‘War on Drugs’ was raging and spreading like the black plague, and this owner just happened to have liquid morphine at his disposal? _So he’s a drug addict?_ Louis theorized, downing the shot regardless of the current panic of America.

It tasted like a bitter and rotten lemon peel, and he took to the water next to wash it down. He didn’t know exactly what would happen because he’d never taken a painkiller before, but if the name stayed true to the effect, then it was something he needed.

He thumbed at the semi-caring words on the note and tried to imagine the owner writing it with him in mind. The confusion around this place never seemed to end. Why was sundown such a big deal? It’s not like that’s when he gets home because apparently he’s upstairs all day—so what the fuck is he doing? Why is he letting Louis stay here as a stranger? Why is he giving him drugs and writing him notes? Nothing made any sense, but Louis was just lucky he got a free pass. He’d come here to explore, and now he had a whole day to do it.

It was thankfully Saturday, so he didn’t have to limp into school today, and maybe he could just stay here until Monday morning. There was no way for his Father to find him…maybe he never had to go back. No, he had to go back. He couldn’t leave his poor Mother to deal with Troy all by herself, but he also deserved a vacation from all the bullshit.

He painstakingly sat all the way up and leaned back against the couch, wrapping one of the blankets around himself to fight against the cold, and inspected the clothes that had been laid out for him: a pair of silky Y-front underwear, black velvet pyjama pants, and an old, soft white button-up that had been yellowed from its apparent many years of existing. The combination of silk and velvet seemed far too entertaining of a combination to turn down, and he carefully undressed himself to try everything on.

Once he was dressed, he turned in a circle and swayed his hips, admiring the look and feeling of the garments on his sore skin. He couldn’t help feeling like a Prince, and he strutted around as undramatically as he could so he wouldn’t break his aggravated bones.

The pants were much too long on his short legs, so he shuffled his feet to the kitchen, catching the sight of a little pile of food items on the table. He inched forward eagerly, flipping through the assortment and giggling to himself for the arbitrary selections. Saltines, Wonderbread, Koogle’s Chocolate Peanut-butter Spread, Cheesedoodles, Frito’s, a bunch of different apples, a jug of apple juice, Carnation Breakfast Bars, Chex Mix, Fonzies, and a box of Quisp cereal with no milk anywhere to be found.

Absolute crap, but Louis wasn’t picky. He took a Carnation bar to start with and snooped around the kitchen, halting when he noticed the padlocked refrigerator and almost spitting his bite out in amusement. Apparently Louis was not to be trusted.

He didn’t even try to fiddle with this lock; he knew drastic measures had been taken for a reason, but he stopped his chewing when a frightening thought danced into his mind—what if the fridge was full of body parts? What if the Co-Ed Killer had taken up a creepy mansion in Idaho and was now plotting to add Louis to the list of his victims? Well, too bad for him. The man can’t kill Louis yet—not until Louis asked him what his side notes meant.

He continued his journey through the kitchen and opened the door on the other side that lead him straight into the hallway that housed the library and music room. _Huh. One mystery door down_ , he thought happily, over the moon that he was slowly beginning to learn the ins and outs of the estate. At least on the first floor. He stared down the hall and gulped his current bite, blindly setting the wrapper down on the counter and chuckling under his breath.

He then acted upon his devilish idea and traveled over to the library to try and read the last of that depressing entry. He was guiltily thrilled that the same journal sat on the table right where he’d left it, and he tiptoed his way to the chair, gingerly sitting himself down and reaching for it a second time. He skimmed through what he’d already read until he finally found the new material, leaning over the table and gluing his eyes to the haunting words:

~

_Since I am left with no deserved haven to seek and no sliver of freedom from the endless repetition, what for me remains? I have traveled to every landmark there is, I have seen more wars than comprehension can represent, and I have long since lost the true and savoured love that allowed me to stomach the carnage. Having changed my darkened ways only to desert me in the end, brings the desire to degress only just outside my grasp. What stops me? My former glory is a light at the end of my selfless tunnel, a chance to disconnect, but his memory cannot allow it. Would I not suffer as he would to see it? Would it be an insult? Would he even know? A life consisting of unanswerable questions has been my muse before time took a second chance, and I don’t yearn to find them. I just wish…_

_~_

“You gotta be kidding me,” Louis whined, flipping the page to find another entry instead of the continuation of the sentence he wanted. “You wish _what_?!” he groaned, rereading the words to try to figure it out. It was impossible to enter the mind of a sentence that was so vaguely ambiguous, and the fact that he’d seen it before was starting to freak him out.

‘I just wish’ had been written in the margin of _Year Endless_ , and speaking of that particular word, the phrase ‘endless repetition’ had also been integrated into the second half of the journal passage, but…but…

“This is from the 1800s!” he desperately reasoned, flipping through the entries to the end and dropping his jaw open when it began to display ‘Year 19Endless’ at the top. “Oh, fuck no,” he said, slamming the book shut and sliding it away from him, disregarding his sneaky attempts to make it appear untouched.

His mind spun with impossible conspiracies of explanations, and he stomped to the shelves to acquire more material. He pulled out five or six similarly sized little books and dropped them onto the table, flipping through their pages without pause for the sharp pain of his palms, spiraling further into a panic at the numbers he uncovered:

_Year 4Endless,_

_Year 6Endless,_

_Year 11Endless,_

_Year 15Endless,_

_Year 17Endless,_

“What the fuck,” he whispered under his shaky breath, falling into the chair and glaring at the passages as though they were giving him the silent treatment when they should be talking. It was absolutely absurd to deduce that these were written by the same person; it was completely out of the question. And yet, they were remarkably similar in theme and aesthetic, and the notion that a whole bloodline of family had dedicated themselves to add more content into the same group of journals as the centuries passed was a highly unlikely one.

The only other thing Louis could conclude was this was all some sort of joke, or history/art project, and the creator had gone to great lengths to age these notebooks and make them look ancient. Maybe they’d actually come from Wal-Mart. He could almost rule that theory out too, because even the most talented artist could never produce this kind of vintage authenticity, but then what the hell did that leave him with? Immortality?

He gripped his hair with both protesting fists and zoomed his eyes from journal to journal, trying to find the detail he was clearly overlooking that would explain this conundrum in a practical and logical way. He decided to give up on the death-resistant writer epidemic of his morning, and returned all of the journals to their dusty spots on the shelves, shifting the first one around until it looked just about how he’d found it.

He walked backward down the corridor under the suspicion that once his back was turned on the journal, it would get up and walk around like the possessed object it was. Now _there’s_ a possibility. Maybe ghosts are real, and one trapped within the mansion’s confines had been writing in the journals to keep track of the years that trudged by as it awaited its long overdue and enlightening passage.

This somehow seemed the most probable out of all the irrational hypotheses, but Louis wanted the damn truth. He wasn’t satisfied with mere speculation, he wanted stone cold and factual proof. He exited the library and closed the creaky door behind him, sweeping into the main room to yell up the stairs.

“Hello? Are you in here, you creepy anomaly? Are you immune to death?” he bellowed, heart pounding in the resonating silence. He could use a little cage of crickets right about now to symbolize the depth of the _nothing_ he got for a response. “Are you immortal?” he tried again, not even waiting for the identical nothing before marching into the music room. “I’m playing your shit,” he warned, shutting himself inside and stepping up to the piano.

He didn’t need to bother with his own notebook because he’d taken the piece from the source right in front of him, so he blocked out all of the nonsensical riddles that filled this mansion to its attic, grit his teeth to handle the stagnant pain in his hands, and played _Year Endless_ like his life depended on it.

 

\---

 

After a trying hour of goading his undiscovered muse into existence so that he might incorporate his artistic rendition, Louis pushed the sheets out of sight and attempted to do without. Louis had always heard, especially from Mr. Carey, that he played best when he already knew what he was doing, so he closed his eyes and let himself _feel_ the notes and chords instead—and that’s when the magic happened.

Louis found he wasn’t even thinking about what came next; in an inexplicable way, he already knew it in his soul. He continued on in that omniscient manner for another unnoticed hour, only calling it quits when his joints began demanding what they had done to deserve this, and puddles of vindictive blood soaked through the large Band-Aids on his hands.

Maybe his resignation was in part due to the foreign and wildly distracting symptoms of itchiness from the morphine in his system as well. Either way, Louis accepted the notion to take a break from the persuasive piano—he didn’t want to waste any snooping time either. He snailed his way out of the music room and set his eyes on the last uncharted door at the dead end of the west hall, crossing his fingers that he wouldn’t happen across the torture chamber so soon in his information excavation. He suppressed his shameful giggle of excitement and pushed the door handle down to enter the room, but he got no further than that. It was locked.

The most important and tempting looking door in the entire west hall, and it was locked.

An intrusive thought crawled into his head that he should just pick the lock—like he even knows how—but that was something Louis would just never do. And before you doubt him like a judgmental asshole, think about it. He hadn’t actually broken into anything this entire time if you want to get technical. He hadn’t broken the lock to get in the gate, the front doors hadn’t been locked at all, and every door up to this point had remained open and available for viewing, _even though_ the owner had known all along someone was gradually invading every shred of his privacy.

That meant something…

None of the factors so far surrounding Louis’ mansion experience had possessed any blatant measures of “Do Not Enter” paraphernalia, and that is precisely why he hadn’t felt guilty about the level of disrespectful encroaching he’d been committing lately.

This, though…this was the first real roadblock in his journey he’d encountered, and if something in this place was actually locked, Louis had no right to ignore the owner’s wishes. If this was a door Louis would never open, then so be it. An entire mansion apart from this room sat at his disposal to sift through to his heart’s content, so he left the mysteriously unfinished west hall, and headed to the east instead.

He made a necessary stop to the bathroom first to re-administer the soiled bandages on his body. Once inside with a mirror to look into, he found that most cuts and scrapes on his upper half didn’t particularly need the Band-Aids he’d stuck on them. He winced his way through pulling them all off, tossing them blindly into the rubbish bin beside the toilet, and dealt with his hands last.

He cleaned them once more with the stream of water hissing from the nozzle—the sink works easier now—and hooked a pinky finger around the cabinet’s handle to acquire Neosporin and fresh gauze pads. The process of putting the ointment on the wounds was just as delicately searing as the first time, but Louis was no wimp. He finished dabbing the taped edges of the gauzes down so they would stay in place, and made use of the bathroom’s main facility when he realized how badly he’d needed to piss.

He forewent washing his hands afterward and simply spritzed the tips of his fingers under the faucet, creaking it off and returning to the east hall for some good ole’ fashion investigation time.

He tentatively tried the first door he came to, delighted when it opened without a hassle. He stepped inside and shut it as quietly as he could before turning around and taking everything in. First glance at the garments in the bulky and fully opened dresser at the opposite side of the room, you would automatically assume they were theatre clothes, but once properly examined, you would realize they weren’t.

“What the fuck,” he breathed in surprise, crossing the floorboards and taking a large whiff of the fabric, truly smelling the history imprinted onto them—don’t ask how that’s possible. All outfits present could have been plucked from a professional production of Shakespeare, and Louis thoroughly investigated each and every one, hellbent on finding a clue as to what time period they impressively recreated.

Old, that’s what they were. He didn’t know the exact era they would have been found in, but it wasn’t anything his Grandpa would have worn. Or _his_ Grandpa.

No tags, no sewing machine-type seams, not a single piece of faux jewelry, and no cheap material like elastic in the waistband of the trousers. The silk was unlike anything he’d ever felt, and everything weighed at least ten pounds. So if these weren’t simple replicas of broadly stereotypical Renaissance fashion, was he really supposed to believe they were truly as old as they appear? Is that even possible?

He thought back to the portraits in the hall from 1588, and of course the “Endless” journals, and suddenly this theory was a lot more credible. Not like that cleared up his confusion. If anything, it made it impossibly worse, but who could he ask? The owner that apparently exists but is never anywhere to be seen?

A flash of coloured stripes caught his eye, and he sifted through the hanging clothes to find the culprit nailed to the back of the wardrobe. He wiggled his palms into the middle of the garments and pushed out in both directions to slide all of the noisy hangers to the opposite sides, revealing…

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, staring with wide eyes and a dropped jaw at the most incredible thing he’d seen all day. Nailed to the wooden frame was a frayed, tattered, possibly bloodied flag of France. The colours were not the vibrant ones you would see today, but the yellowed white, and the dark blue and red were undoubtedly French. He stared hard at the brownish splatters taking up the entire bottom left corner, and if it wasn’t blood, Louis would forever stand corrected, but…

He ran gentle fingers down the middle of the large flag, shivering from the pleasurable roughness of the cloth against his callused skin. He veered his hand to over to pinch the right corner and determine the thickness, but stopped when the tip of his index finger grazed an undeniable object hidden behind the heavy rectangle of cultural fabric. Giddily intrigued, he slid his hand deeper between the flag and backboard and grasped the item in question, reverently pulling out a folded piece of timeless parchment, and walked into the light as he smoothed it out. Written in French, of course.

 _God dammit_ , he thought in defeat. This language barrier thing was frequently putting roadblocks in his comprehension, and he stared at the individual letters for a long and useless amount of time, eager to recognize even one word.

~

_Mon cher Alexandre,_

_Je suis retourné dans notre magnifique France. Cependant, les choses que j'y ai vu n'étaient pas des plus belles. Durant le règne du roi Louis XVI, la révolution du Nouveau Monde a entièrement ravagé l'économie française. Les bons citoyens étaient furieux comme je ne les avais jamais vus auparavant._

_Dans leur colère, ils décidèrent eux-mêmes de déclencher une révolution. Toutefois, celle-ci a mal tourné, et à une vitesse dont nous ne sommes pas fiers. J'ai fait ce que j'ai pu, mais sans toute ma puissance ils n'avaient aucune chance contre la cruauté des soldats. Des vies par milliers furent inutilement perdues, et désormais les rues pavées de Paris sont  irrévocablement teintées du sang d'innocents._

_Je sais que tu m'as dis de ne pas me mêler des affaires politiques humaines mais tu peux considérer cela comme un remboursement pour Rome. Je pense que si tu avais été là, tu m'aurais interdit d'interférer. Mais inutile de souligner l'évidence._

_J'ai sauvé un jeune homme du nom de Martin des décombres de la guerre, et ensemble nous voyagerons vers le Nouveau Monde en quête de paix et d'un refuge loin des catastrophes qui ravagent l'Europe. Peut-être pourrons-nous prospérer dans notre solitude, loin du hurlement des mourants._

_Ton héritage n'a pas été oublié, si tu souhaites le savoir. Et pas seulement à mes yeux car tu es profondément ancré dans les murmures de l’histoire. Durant toutes ces années, pendant les 18Endless, tu es resté Grand._

_Mais plus grand qu'aucune créature plus que moi._

_Jusqu'à la fin de tout,_

_Harry Styles_

_~_

“Louis XVI? Like the old King of France? What a horrible coincidence,” Louis the King of Nothing squeaked indignantly, once again making a quick round trip to collect his notebook and copy every single character down for future reference. Niall probably didn’t stand a chance at decoding all of this, but surely the French teacher at school did.

Louis couldn’t wait to finally reveal the unknown meaning, but he had other things to fawn over for now. He carefully returned the fascinating letter to its rightful corner behind the equally spellbinding flag, and slid the wire hangers back together to erase all evidence of his snoopage. There wasn’t much else to this room besides old furniture and unopenable chests that were seemingly bolted to the floorboards, and he wasn’t about to take an axe to them, so he moved on down the line.

He tiptoed to the next door and flung it open with just as much anticipation brewing in his veins, and to put things lightly, he was not disappointed. In place of the previous French-themed objects, this one was decorated with Greek ones instead. At least, they looked Greek to him.

The first thing to notice was the expertly crafted marble statue of a long-haired and tastefully muscular man, a sculpted cloth hanging over his shoulder that unfortunately covered his pelvic area. In the stone man’s right hand posed a lethal and down-pointed sword, and the left hand suggestively curled into his upper thigh, a mere two inches from grasping his hypothetical marble cock—that Louis won’t deny he would enjoy witnessing.

Stone Boy’s eyes were perpetually closed, and long eyelashes cast down on a face that was tilted back and to the left, suggesting a wide variety of interpretations for the artist’s context. The relief of a victory, the tranquility of a good morning stretch, the rush of immense pleasure, and so forth.

His inanimate lips were full and absurdly kissable, but Louis would not sink to the level of first-kiss-by-statue. That didn’t mean a smooth caress of the face was out of the question however, and Louis reverently held the effigy’s cheek while he sent a groveling prayer at the Gods to turn the art into a real boy.

Nothing happened, but Louis didn’t expect anything to. He resumed his invasive hand’s exploration and slid it down to the Greek boy’s chest, tapping his index finger in-between the defined pectoral muscles and cursing modern day society. It’s Louis’ understanding that ancient Greek culture was particularly notorious for blatant homosexuality—clearly he grew up in the wrong generation.

_Fuck the 70’s._

He tore his eyes away from his marble crush and scoped the rest of the room, tripping over his feet when he found a similar wardrobe to the French’s against the far wall. This one was closed, but if anything was left unlocked in this mansion, it was fair game for Louis’ intrusion.

He approached the dresser and gave its handles a sharp tug, steeling himself for togas and sandals. Its grandeur double doors snapped a bit when Louis pulled them open, and he coughed inside the wave of dust that swept out into the open air.

Louis hadn’t been entirely serious when he’d guessed the contents would be togas and sandals, but it was almost precisely what he found. “No _way_ ,” he exclaimed in denial, running his fingers down the length of the wool garments and shuddering because _apparently_ touching fabric turns him on.

The togas and other precious treasures were all impressively heavy and perhaps once pearl-white in colour, and the scent they were giving off was better than any old library book in the world. Between the togas hung smaller garments in size, which Louis assumed to be tunics. His knowledge of ancient Greece was severely limited, but he _did_ happen to have his World History textbook in his backpack, and he’d never needed it more than this moment.

He rushed out for the millionth time and took the whole bag with him back to the room, having nurtured a rather inconvenient habit of waltzing into rooms nakedly unequipped. He pulled the brick of a book out of its home and rested it within the crook of his elbow, furiously slapping through the pages with his free hand.

An insanely attention-grabbing picture in one of the margins suddenly shouted at him, and he froze his hasty page flipping to stare it down in astonishment. It was the toga. The white toga in the picture matched every single one in the wardrobe, and Louis dropped down to the ground with the book in his arms to drool over the educational passages.

This particular type of toga was apparently a Roman one, and not Greek like he had ignorantly assumed. “Huh,” he mused, craning his neck to address his first and only friend in the mansion. “You a Roman?” he asked the stone hottie, rolling his eyes when he was rudely ignored.

Moving his hungry eyes down the page, he also learned that togas and tunics were essentially all about social class. Wearing only a tunic signified that you were either a commoner, or an owned slave of the Roman Empire. Warriors had a tunic get-up for mobility reasons obviously, but those outfits were closer to armor than their basic linen counterparts.

It was odd then that the closet showcased all varieties of togas and tunics. Surely one person wouldn’t have peasant, warrior, and aristocrat attire all at once…so why was every example here? Louis could ponder it his whole life, but he’d probably never know. 

Closing his book and feeling satisfied with what he’d learned, he turned his gaze to the other items in the room. There was an additional hunk of coffin-shaped wood beside the wardrobe, and it was maddeningly barred by an old lock, but Louis tried it anyway just to be sure.

“Dammit,” he cursed when the lock remained intact, teasing and taunting him with its all-too-well protected secrets. “Well fuck you too, then,” he sassed, stuffing his book back into his bag and walking in a square around the walls of the room. It was obviously intentional, but a mass proportion of these room’s objects were locked away in things he had no access to, and it was fucking up his day.

The number of theories for the added measure of security were vast; maybe all the chests were filled with gold and other timeless treasures of the ages, really anything remotely expensive, bombs, weapons, dead bodies, etc. Louis vowed he would crack the code someday, but he refused to ever do it by forceful means. If they were willingly shown to him, that was about the only way he would ever learn the truth. Even if he came into possession of an old and rusted ring of large keys, he would not use them without permission. He’s far too nice.

With severe limitations of the full experience, Louis felt it time to move on and continue his wandering. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked around Stone Boy to say his goodbyes. The sculpture still wasn’t making eye contact, but they had a substantial stretch of time ahead of them to warm up to each other.

“It was nice to meet you. To anyone else, we would look insane, but you’re a really good listener, and I’ve enjoyed your company. Thanks,” he said awkwardly, cringing at his own behavior and rushing out of the Roman time machine.

With that laughable encounter behind him, his thoughts cleared to leave only excitement. Although, rather than continuing down the east wing’s fun fair, he instead felt a strong urge to return to the library, and his feet were taking him there before he realized what he was doing.

He crossed the mansion in no time and flew down the steps of the library, having an inexplicable understanding of exactly where he should be looking for something he already knew he needed. Very confusing business, but the impulse led him down the furthest row and straight up a ladder to reach the top shelf and retrieve the dustiest thing to date in this entire ghost-infested museum.

He squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the film of ashy dust he’d suffer with if he didn’t, and took the ladder steps back down using his sense of touch. He held the book down below him and opened a careful eyelid to see what he’d demanded himself to pull out.

 _The Iliad_? He wiped the delicate cover with his sleeve as he walked the story to the round table that he’d suffered a panic attack at last time. Louis had read _The Odyssey_ in his sophomore year of high school like everyone else, but he couldn’t quite remember the contents of _The_ _Iliad_ in its specificity. Only flashes of Achilles and Hector immediately came to mind, and he made a mental note to read it through at his next opportunity. Without the Latin, of course.

He lightly lifted the front cover open and smirked at the satisfying sound of its drowsily crackling spine. Drowsily may have been an eccentric word to use, but Louis considers old and deserted books to be waking up when you open their covers for likely the first time in years. They snap and click like Louis’ own back does after he wakes up in the morning, so it was a logical comparison.

The first thing he noticed on the inside was admittedly impossible to miss. Whoever had gifted this book had done so with a loving heart, and it showed. Upon the aged parchment read an ancient and adoring note to the intended reader, and Louis leaned in to catch every little character.

~

_My dearest Hadrian,_

_Once in yonder years, Aristotle raised this vainglorious child by the words of Homer's great Iliad. In this, he bestowed upon I the calm tongue of those who are taught. I beseech it hence instructs thee the same, for thine seek in glory rivals that of mine. Upon these invaluable life lessons I’ve been granted, may they guide you as well._

_Love, Alexander._

_~_

“This is some heavy shit,” Louis breathed, taking a few seconds to ponder those words and what the actual fuck 'vainglorious' means. He turned the first page to dive into the story, but the indecipherable slap of Latin was like a bucket of cold water on his head. He flipped the teasing page back to glance over Alexander’s words again, and that’s when everything got weird.

The thoughtful words he’d read only just moments prior were distorted behind a language barrier that he didn’t recognize, and he furiously turned the page back and forth, desperate to understand the key point he was surely missing here.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he squeaked defiantly. This was the most impossible thing to occur in this mansion yet, and Louis would not be letting this one go any time soon. No matter how many times he blinked his eyes, or how many times he slammed the book shut only to reopen it with the false hope of a legible English dedication, the foreign Latin words remained the same. Louis would never understand how he’d read them in his own language in the first place, and there wasn’t a soul he could consult on the matter, so he had to accept it for what it was.

A blatant impossibility that won’t ever make sense.

He weighed the two options he had heavily on both sides. He could either return to the couch and dutifully do his homework to prevent getting expelled for lack of assignments, or he could run screaming out of the house like an actual murder witness, and book it back home, facing a potential ass-whooping and a ‘no-blanket night.’ No-blanket night is a monthly occurrence, and stealing Louis’ every source for warmth from the entire house was one of Troy’s all-time favourite things to do. It was about that time, and tonight was going to be frigid.

The only intelligent thing left was to do his homework like a real student then, so he trudged back to the living room and plopped onto the couch, spreading all of his unfinished papers out like an FBI investigation and tuning everything else out. Harder than it sounded, but at least his homework was in English.

It wasn’t actually fair at all that Louis spent the whole rest of his evening writing bullshit fill-in-the-blank pages instead of tackling more unopened doors, but he had tomorrow as well. By the time all of his reading and essaying had been done, he was already way too tired to make even one more walk around the house, so sleep time it was.

He fluffed up the pillows on the arm rest and sunk into their buoyancy, haphazardly tossing blankets over him as he hoped for the best, and forcing himself to calm down. He needed his strength for tomorrow’s excavating, and he was going to take it by force if necessary.

“Goodnight, you terrible terrible place,” he cooed fondly into the darkening room, flipping over to face the couch and gradually setting his brain on dormant mode.

 

~~~

 

_Hadrian backed up a few paces on the battlefield, getting his bearings and surveying his situation to decide who was next. Year 455 turned out to be absolute garbage, and the Vandals were dangerously close to overthrowing his precious Rome, but not if he could stop every single one of them first._

_He sensed the presence behind him before he could run into whoever it was, and he spun around with sword in hand, swinging it to kill the enemy without a second thought._

_He didn’t however expect time to stop. His sword noisily clashed with the opponent’s who had raised his own just in time to block the attack, and Hadrian stared hard into the unanticipated pair of beautifully mismatched eyes so close to his face. He took his time inspecting the strikingly bright blue of the left, and shifted his focus to the other black eye, guessing the iris was probably a dark brown in the daylight._

_Of course, daylight may be a bit of a struggle to witness this opponent in, because there were no doubts he was a vampire, same as Hadrian. The gorgeous features of his wise face smoothed into an expression of amusement, and Hadrian instantly lowered his sword in the presence of his obvious elder._

_“I thought I smelled death,” the stranger vampire noted with a smirk, returning his sword to its sheath and looking Hadrian up and down in peaked interest._

_Hadrian had a lot of things he wanted to say, but only one of those things rolled off his tongue in response. “Leave Rome be, you mongrels! Cease your senseless killing of my people,” he shouted, receiving the tiniest of eyebrow raises from his intoxicating kin._

_“‘Senseless killing,’ you say?” the vampire challenged, tilting Hadrian’s face up with a hand under his chin and shooting him with an intensely calculating gaze. “You and I are not the creatures to denounce such actions. You hold a horrid amount of murder in your eyes.”_

_Hadrian scoffed and smacked the overly familiar hand away from his face, backing up and successfully finding his words because the spell of the impervious stranger had been broken. He’d gone too far. “Who are you?” he snapped, narrowing his ‘murder eyes’ in suspicion._

_“Alexander III of Macedon,” he replied carelessly, knowing his revealed identity would spark a passionate reaction._

_“Alexander…the Great?” Hadrian confirmed in shock, taking in the lion headdress atop the vampire’s long brown hair, and connecting the unbelievable dots._

_“As my title would precede me. I thought I was Great once, too,” he chuckled, crossing his arms and cocking his head at Hadrian in evident expectation. “I have told you my identity, now I must know yours.”_

_Hadrian actually averted his eyes from nerves, surprising himself for having such a strong reaction to this vampire’s eye contact. Perhaps it was the ominous irregularity of their colour, but whatever the reason, Hadrian’s confidence was lower than it had been since before he was born…exactly._

_"Aelius Hadrianus, son of Publius, of Rome,” he mumbled, clearing his throat and straightening his spine from the shame of previously cowering._

_“Ahh, Hadrian, is it? Emperor of Rome from 98 to…” Alexander trailed, the ending of that reign eluding his memory._

_“138,” Hadrian said, nodding his head and reiterating his opening statement; he was wasting time standing in the rain instead of fighting for his cause. “Stop destroying my home!” he pleaded bravely into Alexander’s face, even taking a step forward to prove his worth._

_Alexander smiled sadly and shook his head, slowly raising his right hand to hold the left side of Hadrian’s cold face. “You have no home in Rome,” he explained carefully, hoping the vampire would understand the truth without too much convincing. “This isn’t your world anymore. It’s theirs,” he said, gesturing to the armies of humans around them._

_Hadrian looked around at the battles, and he could easily agree with that particular sentiment; it’s just that when his eyes caught sight of his beloved city, his argument set itself back into stone. “I have to protect it,” he negated fiercely._

_Alexander sighed like he’d been expecting that exact answer, and he scooted even closer to extinguish the distance between them, slapping both hands on Hadrian’s face and making his next words as clear as possible. “Human family and comrades are not the only things we lose with time. In this New Age, we lose our origins as well. The world is ever changing. You cannot put a stop to this progress, and neither can I. Not even with our greatest power and overstock of time, it will continue. We do not have a right to interfere as we should not even be here in the first place. We have to let humans take over and do what they’ve always done,” he instructed, not leaving a lot of room for debate, but Hadrian wasn’t done yet._

_“You say this while leading an army of Vandals,” Hadrian sassed pointedly, not able to get behind such blatant hypocrisy._

_“It was asked of me,” Alexander defended without missing a beat, shrugging his shoulders for an added effect of innocence. “I have slain not one human if you’ve noticed. A simple clash of swords, then onto the next.”_

_Of course Hadrian hadn’t noticed that. He admittedly had not known Alexander was even around until their swords made that jarring contact, so he didn’t have much of a rebuttal at the ready. “So I must forsake my Rome?” he asked incredulously, deciding to play along with Alexander’s ideals for now to see where it got him._

_“It isn’t yours to forsake,” Alexander reminded in exasperation. “But you need not fret. Rome will live on in anyone that is old enough to remember it. In you and I, and within history itself. I promise you that Rome will never be forgotten, even by these impulsive humans who are so prone to mindless distractions,” he promised in a much softer tone, glad to see his magic was beginning to work with the old Emperor._

_“How do you know?” Hadrian asked unsurely, a pitiful waver in his voice, his only weakness shining through like the wretched sun over the horizon at dawn._

_“Because you knew who I was,” Alexander reasoned, giving Hadrian an encouraging smile when understanding flashed on his features._

_Hadrian found his reluctant acceptance through that last sentence, realizing that Alexander had ruled during the times long before years restarted at zero, and yet Hadrian had still heard stories of his accomplishments. Alexander the Great. His name was still spoken to this day in reverence…surely a whole empire like Rome would be as well._

_Hadrian dropped his forehead onto Alexander’s shoulder in resignation and sighed toward the ground as he was enveloped in the cold but satisfying arms of his almost-enemy. Alexander never stopped his gentle caresses down Hadrian’s back, and it ended up pulling every measure of Hadrian’s trust to the surface, transferring it over to Alexander’s hands with or without permission. “What would you have me do?” Hadrian asked submissively, the fight in him long gone._

_“Stay with me,” Alexander mused fondly, speaking the loving words directly into Hadrian’s ear. “We can watch the world together. Your never-ending solitude hangs heavy over your head, and I share that weight, but we don’t have to. Cling to me, and let me depend on you, and we can keep each other forever,” he finished, nervously awaiting the Roman’s answer when he pulled back to stare at him rather dubiously._

_“Forever? This is rather sudden,” Hadrian repeated in a tiny whisper, having not in the slightest manner expected the conversation to take this kind of a turn._

_“It won’t be sudden in the centuries to come. We’ve nothing to lose, and everything to gain. If forever is what we are meant to have, then that is what we shall receive,” Alexander said wisely, unfortunately all too knowledgeable of the unpredictable shifts in the ways of life. “We are no more the artists of this world than the Gods.”_

_Hadrian pushed a short-lived and emotionless laugh out of his dead throat, surprised to find someone so old who still believed in such trivial things as the Gods. “There are no Gods,” he mentioned haughtily, unable to let that one go._

_Alexander merely smiled and held Hadrian’s cheek again, infuriating and wooing him in entirely foreign degrees at once. “Come. Let us run wherever we wish to go. Let us watch the sun age and the very planet die before we do,” he suggested, already pulling Hadrian’s arm to lead him off the battlefield, and turning when the boy suddenly halted._

_“Are you certain?” Hadrian asked incredibly seriously, eyeing the vampire with both hope and doubt swimming around in his green irises._

_“Yes, are you?” Alexander asked, grinning when Hadrian resumed his stride and followed him to their unknown future together as a team._

_“... Yes.”_

 

~~~

 

Harry shot awake with a growl, quickly wiping at his unwanted tears as he sat up in anger and frustration. _Why that dream again_? he begged to the universe, having already relived that night over in his mind more times than there are people on the planet. “Alexander,” he muttered to his long dead lover, wherever that fucker was, “get out of my head.”

The only reason he hadn’t roared into his room the instant he’d woken up was his immediate detection of the human with his sharp nose—the human who was still here. It would be utterly impossible to miss his certain aroma, and Harry didn’t want that aroma to disappear, so he stayed quiet. Well, there was a debate to that. Harry had an extensive list of reasons on either of side of why he did and didn’t want the human to leave, but he couldn’t make up his mind to save his…wait…

“Whatever,” he grumbled, shoving his blankets off his body—that couldn’t retain heat anyway so why did he even have them—and dressing himself in his fanciest of robes. He didn’t bother tying his hair this time and ran his fingers through the messiest sections of it, ultimately deciding his didn’t care and pulling it all to hang over his right shoulder.

He climbed the stairs as apathetically as he could, tiredly rubbing at his face while he tried to banish the offensive dream from his thoughts. Wasn’t happening any time soon. He dropped the trapdoor when he got out from under it, expertly catching it on his heel and slowly lowering it down so that it wouldn’t replicate a gunshot throughout the house again.

He shuffled his way into the kitchen where a sneaky Martin was tiptoeing around the cabinets and preparing his breakfast.

“He’s here,” Martin whispered needlessly, averting his eyes when Harry rounded on him in annoyance.

“I know that, you crouton,” Harry snapped in response, blindly reaching a hand back to take his blood while he stared down the hall at the back of the couch.

Martin never appreciated having his French heritage insulted, but he also knew that Harry may have loved France even more than Martin had, so he let it go and handed his master the pitcher he’d fixed.

Harry closed his fist around the handle and brought it to his lips, taking a long inhale before knocking it back and welcoming the thick drug down his throat if he had no other choice. The sniff test was done to compare what he was stuck with to the tempting flavour riding on the air, and Harry was incredibly disappointed to confirm that once again, the blood in his hands had absolutely nothing on the boy’s scent.

He grudgingly accepted his fate and valiantly tried to make do with the mediocre blood as it gave him mediocre life, willing it to match the scent nonstop permeating his home and actually give him some satisfaction. Like the kind he would get from sinking his fangs into the soft neck of the—

“Harry!” Martin hissed when his master suddenly flashed out of the room and leapt over the couch with a rather dire intention.

Harry’s fangs were mere centimeters from the back of the boy’s neck when he mumbled into the couch, stopping the vampire in his bloodthirsty tracks to listen.

“Endless,” the boy croaked in his sleep, stretching his limbs and crossing his arms over his head, almost like he knew there was a threat at the back of his neck. The act covered his face once again, and Harry cursed himself for not taking note of that first before going in for the kill—but could he really kill this boy?

“Sixteen endless,” the boy reiterated, throwing in a cluster of unconscious grunts afterward, immediately followed by a few sniffles before falling completely silent and lying still.

Harry shook his head and leaned back in to inhale the boy and his iconic oddness, admittedly irritated that he’d snooped so much, but Harry hadn’t stopped him either. He backed off when the scent of the boy’s skin got him hard with arousal, forgetting all about the blood he’d consumed to deem that possible, and uncomfortably waddled away from the living room.

Martin sagged against the door jamb in relief, over the moon that he wouldn’t have to pry his ravenous master off an unsuspecting human boy. “What would you like me to do?” he mouthed to Harry, impartial to whatever his master would request.

“Go hide in your room for a while,” Harry suggested firmly, making it clear that it was his only real option.

“Right away,” Martin obeyed, eyeing him suspiciously as he retreated down the hall, fearing it was a bad idea to leave him alone with the human, but concluding it also wasn’t any of business, nor his place to interfere. _Control yourself,_ he pleaded to the Roman, shutting himself in his sleeping area and picking _The Lord Of The Rings_ up where he’d left off, thereby shutting the real world out until further notice.

 

~~~

 

Harry palmed at his crotch as he stared down at the human, willing his erection to calm itself because he refused to sink to the level of pleasuring himself while creeping on someone in their sleep. Not his cup of blood.

However, it was increasingly difficult to ignore the impulse when the boy kept shifting in his slumber and showcasing glimpses of the veins in his neck. It was almost comparable to old strip shows in England’s Regency Period when a woman’s ankle was the most promiscuous thing anyone could think of.

Well, now Harry was acting the same as those scandalized men at the sight of this human’s neck, but at least he had a better excuse. Right underneath the exposed skin was a whole world of feeling, breathing, and living to devour, and the boy’s unbitten condition was a true testament to Harry’s control—and strength of his promise to Alexander.

He’d been doing a real shitty job of refraining from blood in general, but times had changed, and the drug didn’t need to be acquired straight from the source anymore. Now it could be delivered in motor vehicles by your nurse friend from Pakistan that you met in a fancy men’s club in the early 19Endless, and dropped at your doorstep by the box.

Harry denied himself of tasting the flavour he already knew to be the supremacy to all blood in this world, but he couldn’t pass up a touch on top of that. He reached a pale hand out to rest on the middle of the boy’s back, sucking the warmth right into his own body while he was still alive, and then pressing his palm to his own cheek.

The little hot-blooded daywalker moaned in apparent bliss, and Harry swooned under the wave of affection that shot itself at the boy without asking the vampire’s permission. He bent down to hover over the human’s head, gently nuzzling his nose into his fluffy hair and rubbing it with his cheek like a cat.

He knew he didn’t have much time left before he’d get too excited again, so he brushed his lips against the boy’s mostly hidden temple in a painfully short-lived kiss, and walked into the kitchen to write a note that would hopefully be read in the morning. He scrawled his words onto the page and returned to the living room to set it down on the coffee table, crossing the pen on top of it and quietly sighing in disappointment.

He pointedly fought making any more contact with intoxicating skin, hair, or warmth, and fled to Martin’s room to get comforted like he deserved. “Martin,” he whined to his butler when he crossed the doorway, shutting it soundlessly behind him and galloping across the floor to jump straight into Martin’s lap, sending the book in his hands flying.

“Master Harry,” Martin cooed as he threw his arms around Harry’s clenched back, not doing anything more than what he knew his master needed. “It’ll be okay.”

“How? This human won’t fucking leave me alone, and he smells so divine. I don’t deserve this,” Harry grumbled, not in the slightest appreciative of his boring life getting uprooted and replaced with high-strung anxiety.

“I know,” Martin agreed genuinely, having his own inconvenienced thoughts on this ordeal as well. The garden hadn’t been touched in days, for instance.

“He almost smells like Ale—Alexander,” Harry choked, imploring Martin to take away the pain with his desperate eyes.

“But it cannot be an exact match,” Martin reminded, still sympathetic to his master’s distress. “You may be willing it to match more than it does.”

“He called me Hadrian,” Harry argued, adding to his growing list of ominously strange coincidences.

“Not directly?” Martin tried, lacking anything even close to a reasonable explanation for that one.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Marty,” Harry passionately declared, sliding off his butler’s lap and flopping down on the bed that is never used during the day to glare at the ceiling with determination.

“I know you are, Harry. You will,” Martin agreed supportively, subtly retrieving his book and returning to its adventurous words because he knew Harry would be locked in his mind palace now.

Harry pondered the ways he would finally make his entrance and reveal himself to the human. There were a lot of ways to go about introductions, but whatever he chose, he had to do it soon. The boy had called him Hadrian…

He had to do it soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, what does it mean? lol  
> Flash back to beginning of chapter - Harry had tossed and turned awake all night, and had originally wrote another note, but the more he thought about the human's battered condition, the more protective he got. So he grabbed some clothes, and grabbed some morphine, and replaced the original note he'd written with the new one. He then got the extra pillows and blankets, and watched over him for a while, all before Martin got back, and for the record, the original note was: "It's sundown."  
> Also, I know the war on drugs we're all thinking of was Nancy Reagan in the 80s, BUT NIXON ADMINISTRATION STARTED IT. And they called it that as well. Nancy just blew it up with the dumbass "just say no" propaganda.  
> But anyway, Thank you so so so much to the beautiful Ariane (xsw_nn), Blandine (@nottooldforthisship on tumblr), and my friend Coralie Léa for routinely helping me with the French and evolving it to perfection. I couldn't have done it without them, so thaaaaank youuuu   
> UPDATE: THE LETTER HAS BEEN READ IN FRENCH!! ( http://wubwubnparmaham.tumblr.com/post/158284444923/nottooldforthisship-wubwubnparmaham-asked-me )  
> Thank you to Blandine!! <3


	5. Zayn's Terrible Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Zayn, and more looks into Hadrian's past.  
> Yo, guys I'm so sorry. I had a monster kidney stone and felt like I was gonna die. Had to go to hospital that instant. Second one in two months too, I think my kidneys might be pretty terrible. That or I drink too much tea. Apparently a cause. Hopefully some of you are still awake, but if not, have a good morning <3  
> -The finally better but still wary Jackson.  
> AURON RHYMES WITH LAUREN. KEEP THAT IN MIND, NEW READERS. Everyone pronounced it wrong from the beginning (my fault, I didn't specify), and I can only hope that you get this down at the first mention haha. Auron = Lauren.

Louis woke up in a hot sweat, kicking the excess blankets off his body and heaving his lungs to catch his lost breath. Once again, he was graced with a short flash of his dream until it left his memory entirely. He wiped under his eyes and took a look around, standing up with great difficulty because his Tin-Man joints felt as though they were irreparably rusted.

He wobbled into the kitchen and stood before the grandfather clock until he was coherent enough to actually read it. Apparently it was noon, but Louis didn’t understand how the gongs of the clock hadn’t woken him up throughout his whole stay. In fact, he didn’t think he’d heard it once this whole time, but that seems unlikely. Was he really not paying attention?

 _Or_ were the noisy elements inside of it taken out so it would always be silent? Louis honestly wouldn’t put it past this dramatic owner. The man would probably just bitch about how there was no point to know the time, because it was always “hour endless,” or “endless o’clock.”

Louis chuckled at his assumption, but he had to back up and review the acceptance of what he was implying. Did he really think that the owner was immortal? Was this just irrefutable fact now? He still had a lot more proof to collect before he would make his final conclusion, but it was increasingly unsettling that it had begun to sound almost normal in his mind.

He turned where he stood and gazed at the pile of junk food, choosing carefully because he needed more strength for today—it was the day he would go home and face Father-Troy after disappearing without a trace for three whole days. He supposed he could just stay here forever like the owner clearly has, but he’d been quite enough of a nuisance for many forevers over.

He eyed the food and deviously decided he would take it all back with him—when was the next time he would get an opportunity to eat all the junk food he wanted? Certainly not with the health freak that is Niall. He gathered as much as he could in his arms and walked back to the couch to stuff his loot in his bag when a little note on his history homework caught his eye.

Without blinking or looking away, he deposited the bags onto the coffee table to deal with later and approached the little note, sitting down on the cushions as he lifted it to his face.

~

_Dear Stalker,_

_My name is Harry._

_I’d like to meet you._

_Without the yelling, I promise._

 

_p.s. Number seven on your history paper is wrong. It’s C._

~

“You’re kidding,” Louis breathed, holding the note in both hands above his head as he skewered the page below for the question. The question read: ‘Queen Elizabeth I ascends the throne and restores Protestantism.’ It was a timeline paper, and he’d circled ‘D’ to answer 1553…but apparently it was 1558. He’d just gone off the top of his head, sue him.

“Of course you’d know that,” he muttered petulantly as he erased his mistake and corrected it in moderate irritation. “You were probably there when it happened, weren’t you, you vampire.”

 _Whoa._ Vampire? Had he established an official conspiracy theory? The term had just popped into his thoughts before he’d internalized it, and he’d never given it much contemplation before, but was it logical? “Are those real?” he asked to the silence of the mansion’s interior, a newfound elation bubbling in his stomach. Had he figured it out?

It seemed the code may be starting to crack, but Louis became temporarily distracted by the realization he’d left _The Iliad_ sitting on the library table in plain sight, and that issue needed to be addressed right away. The owner may indeed know that Louis was shamelessly rummaging through his shit, but that didn’t mean that Louis was comfortable with leaving clear evidence lying around like that.

He changed his clothes back into the ones he’d come in with and left the borrowed ones in a neatly folded pile on the coffee table. He was already stealing food, he didn’t need to steal clothes as well. He brushed his hair with his fingers and tied his shoes last, stretching and cracking his back to prepare himself for the infamous mind-bending anomalies in the library. If he had a ninja headband, this would be the time he would tie it for courage, but alas, pure heart would win him this round.

He crossed the premises and crept down the first row of books, daring anything to jump out at him from the shelves so he could karate chop the shit out of it—hopefully in half. He came to the table and spun in a circle, ensuring he wasn’t being followed before picking the book up to return it to its top shelf.

_Kiss me like we’re alive, Alexander._

“WHAT!” Louis shrieked, dropping the book in an instant and falling to his knees as sudden tears overtook him. _Did that book just talk to me?_ He was impossibly confused, and he sobbed his heart out on the library for at least ten minutes before he got his shit together.

“What the fuck is going on,” he begged, gripping his hair and backing away from the table to lean against the edge of the nearest shelf. He pulled his legs into his chest and dropped his forehead onto his knees, objectively recounting all the events that had just occurred. The second his skin had made contact with that book, a voice had spoken so clearly that the person could have been in this very room.  

That wasn’t the first time he’d encountered the name ‘Alexander,’ but the library had just crossed the line, and he couldn’t do this right now. He yanked his sleeve down over his hand and sprang to his feet, snatching the magical book off the table and sprinting up the ladder to shove back in its spot and jump off before the pages could whisper anymore words of love at him.

He continued his fast-paced retreat out of the library and across the main room to skid to a stop at the coffee table and shove his school supplies into his bag, only being semi-mindful of the food items in the process. He slung the backpack around his shoulders and was two milliseconds from bolting, but the little note caught his exasperated attention.

 _Fine,_ he relented, clicking the pen against the table and scribbling out his response on the back. Once finished, there was nothing left to keep him there, and away he flew. He was all too aware that he was furiously biking toward getting beaten up at home...but until further notice, at least for today, the phantom phrases were worse. He couldn’t tell you why he’d had such a strong reaction to the speaker’s voice, but it felt so innately connected to him, like all of this involved him somehow, and he needed to do away with such ideas.

Clearly delving into the mysteries of the mansion were rubbing off on him in a way that made him feel entitled to its secrets, but he was just a curious snooper, and he’d do well to remember this. Few days should set him straight, right? He hoped so.

 

\---

 

“Come here,” Father-Troy growled, chasing Louis down the hallway as he desperately tried to reach his room after taking a much needed shower.

“No, no, no,” Louis cried, barreling into his room and shutting the door behind him, standing against it in fear while his Father banged on the outside. Troy turned the knob that unfortunately didn’t have a lock, and Louis’ hand flew down to cancel it out, but he was too late. With a mighty push, Troy forced the door open, sending Louis flying a few feet away and tumbling to the ground.

With no safety left, Louis did his best to crawl away, but Troy dropped to his knee and picked Louis up by the collar of his shirt, yanking him around to land a powerful blow to the jaw. Stars shot behind Louis’ eyes as the force of Troy’s fist broke blood vessels, and he could already tell that eating would be painful tomorrow.

“Where were you!” Troy demanded, rearing his fist back to strike again if Louis wasn’t truthful, or didn’t offer a satisfactory answer.

“Out with friends!” Louis shouted back at the belligerently drunk man, cursing himself for not just staying with the talking book.

“What friends? Faggot friends?!” Troy spat hatefully, grabbing Louis’ wrist and beginning to drag him out of his room.

“Normal friends,” Louis defended uselessly, squeezing his eyes shut as he was pulled into the yellow light of the unattractively wallpapered hallway. By a sheer stroke of luck, Troy coincidentally reached that point in his intoxication that consciousness was no longer an maintainable state, and he tripped over his footing to land with a thud on his back, the superficial photos of Louis’ “happy family” jumping with fright from the shockwave that shot up the walls.

“Christ,” Louis breathed in relief, kicking his Father’s arm away and standing with the wall’s help, gazing down at his sad excuse of a caregiver. The man looked almost peaceful as he snored on the floor, but it was hard to humanize such an abhorrent demon. His patchy grey hair with the balding top looked as though it had been through the blender, and his classic frown was still etched into his face, even without consciousness. His pot belly gorged out of his yellowed tank top, and a sea of course hair covered him like a bear, his slumbering growls adding the auditory effects to that imagery.

There was a time when Louis played frisbee with the man drooling on the floor; there was a time when they threw a football back and forth in their shiny green grass yard together. A period of Louis’ life where his Father’s smile could have reversed the fear from nightmares and transform them to courage. Could take a scraped knee and turn it into a token of strength.

Those days of Louis’ life had been so much better than he could have understood at the time. The sky was bluer, the flowers more saturated, his Mother a radiant and strongly spoken woman, the neighbors good friends to his family. But it had all changed in the fifth grade when Louis had told Troy the thing that would change both of their lives forever. He’d been nervous at first, but his Father had knelt to one knee and promised that Louis could tell him anything in the world, and he would always love him.

So he’d admitted to kissing his best male friend, Stanley, on the lips, and said that he really liked him, even that he wanted to go steady with him. Troy had consequently backhanded him so hard, it’s a shock Louis didn’t wear that bruise to this day. In the split second of that deafening crack, Troy’s “unconditional love” for him had shattered into widespread and unrecoverable pieces, and physical abuse was the only Fatherly contact he would ever receive thereafter.

Louis had held onto his hopes that Troy’s initial reaction would blow over, and he would learn how to love his gay son, but when Troy turned to alcohol to drown his liver and shame, the punches solidified themselves into the Tomlinson home dynamic. Louis had then rebelled in the most hormonal preteen manner he dared, and their relationship had festered into burning, unassailable hatred on both sides.

Louis had stomped into the living room at age fourteen and demanded his Father acknowledge him for once, and that he wasn’t going to change, and Troy needs to accept it. This wasn’t what his drunken Father had wanted to hear, and the man stumbled up from the inverted dip in his loveseat to beat Louis to a pulp for the first time, annihilating every trace of the familial love they used to share. They both gained the biggest enemy they’d ever have that night, and it was actually impressive that both of them were still alive at one time.

Louis laughed bitterly and wiped at his mouth, wincing from the pain in his jaw, and controlling the urge to spit on Troy’s face with a strength he didn’t know he had. He made a stop to his Mother’s bathroom before shutting himself in for the night, because he would likely need her concealer for school tomorrow.

“Louis,” Stacey piped with her tiny voice from her and Troy’s shared bed, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to meet her eyes and sighed when the tears in them glittered from the lamp light. He approached the rock-hard bed and took a seat next to her, doing his best not to flinch as she prodded at his face in concern. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she whined, pulling him in for gentle hug.

“S’ok, Momma,” he excused, always the tough one of the pair.

She knew as well as he did that it was just an act, but his resilience never failed to amaze her. “You know you’re in big trouble, right? He’s not going to forget, he’s been ranting about it this entire weekend, even before drinking,” she informed, sympathetic he’d done himself so much harm by being gone so long. “Where did you go?”

There was no way that Louis was going to reveal his secrets to someone who caved so easily under pressure. Not that he thought she was untrustworthy, just that if she knew, Troy would eventually find out. And he didn’t want to burden her with a truth that could be violently extracted. “I was just with friends, Mama. Honest. I know I shouldn’t have stayed that long, but it was just nice to not have to…deal with him, I guess. But I failed to think about you, and how things were for you with me gone…I’m sorry,” he lamented, genuinely upset he hadn’t given much regard to her over the weekend.

“Don’t do that again,” she begged for his sake, afraid of what Troy was going to be like now with something concrete to explode over.

“I won’t, I promise. Can I borrow your makeup?” he asked to shift the discussion—it only ever went the exact same way anyhow.

“Yeah, sweetie. Top drawer, you know the spot.”

“Thanks,” he quipped, retrieving the bottle of concealer and pausing on his way out. “What did he do to you while I was gone?” he asked carefully, not prepared to hear the worst of it.

“It wasn’t fun,” she responded vaguely, not needing to be specific for him to get the picture.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, walking out before things got too emotional. There was no changing the past, and he didn’t want the details. He stepped over his Father’s annoyingly still alive form sprawled out on the floor, and quietly closed his door in case he could be revived by sudden noises.

It was still relatively early in the day—even though Troy had just come home from a bar—but Louis had a feeling he should get his sleep now, so he shut his window blinds and curled into his blankets, praying that the immortal God of the mansion would save him before it was too late…he _really_ should have stayed.

 

\---

 

_“I thought you didn’t kill people,” Hadrian mentioned, in reference to the large vase of blood Alexander brought over from the corner of the room. Alexander had taken Hadrian away from the battlefield and they’d traveled like lightning to the vampire’s modest home in the island of Britannia. They hadn’t gotten much word in because Hadrian hadn’t known what to say, and they were running much too fast to be heard over the wind._

_Then of course they had swam deep under the surface of the ocean to reach the island quicker than any of the inhabiting sea creatures could, and talking was admittedly pointless then too. The journey hadn’t taken up much time, and before Hadrian knew it, he was being guided into a humble abode that Alexander promptly illuminated with candles, and presented a large vase of oddly smelling blood._

_“I don’t,” Alexander said with a smirk, seemingly amused to let Hadrian in on the secret._

_“Care to explain this, then?” Hadrian asked, raising the goblet Alexander had poured for him and taking a sip before he got an answer. “Ugh, what is that?” he moaned in distaste after swallowing the sour liquid, squinting his eyes suspiciously into the goblet._

_“Look outside,” Alexander suggested, leaning back against a pillar in the center of the room and drinking his goblet like it was of a decent flavour._

_Hadrian scoffed at the vampire’s complacency and strode to the back entrance, pushing the heavy curtain aside to reveal a small farm of animals which mainly consisted of horses. “Horses…you mean this is horse blood?” he asked incredulously, gagging from the mere knowledge of what he’d just ingested._

_“Well it works, doesn’t it?” Alexander reasoned, beckoning Hadrian to come sit back down._

_Hadrian rolled his eyes and let the curtain fall, walking back to the middle of the room as he took another test sip. “I guess,” he admitted reluctantly, taking a spot right across from Alexander and crossing his legs as he set the goblet down in the diamond they made. “Nothing on humans, though.”_

_“No, but you’re an addict. You don’t need as much as I know you take. You don’t need it at all,” he added, putting strained emphasis on the term ‘need.’ “We can exist forever without it.”_

_“You talk large for a vampire with a vase of animal blood at his disposal,” Hadrian argued, always amazed at Alexander’s astounding hypocrisy._

_“Maybe…but I was saving it for a special occasion,” he excused, making a gesture that signified this was somehow that specific instance._

_“Grand,” Hadrian deadpanned, taking another sip and trying not to scrunch his face in displeasure. “Old horse blood. How delightful.”_

_Alexander didn’t feel like encouraging Hadrian’s never-ending wit, and simply smiled at him as if he were figuring something out in his head. “Come to me,” he suddenly said, nearly causing Hadrian to spit out his gulp._

_Hadrian only stared into Alexander’s eyes, heavily scrutinizing the Macedonian immortal because he did not yet fully trust his so called innocent intentions. There was no malice to detect in his face, and despite Hadrian’s guarded wariness, he placed his goblet to the side and scooted forward until their knees touched._

_Alexander set his goblet aside too and coerced Hadrian to sit parallel with him as he admired the younger vampire’s profile. “Hadrian of Rome,” he began, placing a daring arm around his shoulders and paying no mind to his obvious flinch. “Tell me your story.”_

_“My story? I don’t know, it’s a lengthy one,” Hadrian contended, glaring when Alexander chuckled condescendingly._

_“Mine’s longer. Say it all as summed up as you can make it. We have forever to talk details.”_

_Hadrian wasn’t convinced. “I don’t like when someone knows more about me than I know about them.”_

_Alexander actually agreed with a philosophy like that, so he caved to get what he wanted in the end. “I’ll tell you mine.”_

_“Aye? Then go first,” Hadrian instructed, letting no doubts arise that he would not waver from that position._

_“I was born on the 20th of July, in what you would call 356 b.c., to Philip II of Macedon. There were so many odd coincidences surrounding my birth that I grew up being constantly reminded that I was a child of the Gods. I had a teacher named Aristotle, and a horse named Bucephalus. I also had a lover named Hephaestion who traveled the lands with me our entire lives since childhood. I ruled just about everything anyone could get to, and killed more men than I probably have as an immortal,” he accounted, internally shuddering over his corrupt life as a human._

_“Tell me about your turning,” Hadrian requested, already fascinated with the sequence of events that led to where he was today. What happened to ultimately conclude with Alexander sitting down and telling this story so many centuries later._

_“It’s quite simple. I lost Hephaestion to a terrible sickness while we were in Ecbatana, and willingly let my own health deteriorate in the face of that. It wasn’t long until I developed the same ailments, and I was confronted by a vampire on my death bed and naïvely persuaded to live forever so that my love would never be forgot. Anything else to my story, you will hear at a later time. That sums it up for now,” he finished, giving Hadrian the time he needed to process the blips of information he was given._

_“I’m sorry about Heph—”_

_“No, do not say his name,” Alexander interrupted with a calm and patient smile. “I have let it go, but it is not a name I wish to hear regularly.”_

_“I understand,” Hadrian said sincerely, lowering his head in respect. “I am just sorry.”_

_“Thank you. I only told you this to barter histories. It’s your turn,” he said with a wicked grin as he turned to face the Roman, interlocking his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward with over exaggerated interest._

_“Fine, I’ll give,” Hadrian accepted, clearing his throat to share his equally dramatic tale. “Born in 76 a.d. to Publius and Domitia, and accompanied by my twin brother Auron—”_

_“Ooh, a twin,” Alexander gasped with a sparkle in his eyes. “Please continue.”_

_Hadrian laughed in bemusement and resumed his recollection, trying to keep it as short as possible as Alexander had managed. “Auron was older, but he was weaker and unpredictable. So Trajan, the Emperor who has my Father’s paternal cousin, chose me to be the heir instead. Auron went mad with jealously, pretty sure he killed our parents in a fire...I was kidnapped by the Gauls and taken to a prison cell where a vampire turned me for the fun of it…” he trailed, still unsure why his maker had taken such a keen interest._

_“Had his reasons, I guess. Go on,” Alexander pushed, leaning back and taking a swig of his goblet to finish it before pouring more from the vase._

_“Well I spent a lot of time with him killing people, and then I went back to Rome to take over the Empire. That’s when I found my brother, standing over Trajan’s deathbed and likely hours away from assuming my place as Emperor—only he was now a vampire too. I don’t know how it happened, and I never got to find out. He tried to attack me and failed, and I haven’t seen him since. Just left. I looked for a long time, but I never found him. That’s it for now, I suppose. I've lost loves as well, some undoubtedly to Auron’s cruelty, but I don't desire to talk about them either,” he ended with a shrug, giving a lopsided smile at Alexander’s fascinated and taken expression._

_“Thrilling,” Alexander mused, looking forward to hearing every single day of Hadrian’s history in the finest detail the Roman can retract from his memory. “A meddlesome brother indeed. Identical twins, you say?”_

_“Aye. It’s like gazing into a pool’s reflection,” Hadrian informed, always upset he shared an exact face with someone so weak and pathetic, not to mention diabolical._

_“Do you want to find him?” Alexander asked curiously, unable to stop himself from prying into Hadrian’s story of the past._

_“I did for the longest of years…but I lost that drive. The last thing he said to me was that he would destroy everything I would ever love, and over the amount of time we’ve spent apart, that very real and thrice implemented threat has only made me angrier,” Hadrian muttered, looking off to the side and working to calm himself in the presence of the ancient Macedonian. “That being said, I still tried to find him recently,” he admitted, finally making eye contact when he scoured up the courage to._

_“Why is that?” Alexander inquired as he cocked his head to the side._

_“To aid me in defending our weakened Rome,” Hadrian said pointedly, staring Alexander down and just daring him to start something._

_Understand flashed across Alexander’s face and he nodded his head slowly—he was not ashamed and guilty per se, but certainly at fault. “You loved Rome, didn’t you?” he said without much of a questioning tone, reaching out to hold one of Hadrian’s wary hands. “You loved Rome more than anything.”_

 

~~~

 

“Yes, I did, Alexander. More than anything…except for you, thank you,” Harry grumbled as he opened his eyes, working hard to accept the haunting dreams without causing a scene every time he woke up. “Except for you.”

He rubbed his tired eyelids with the heels of his palms and stretched his muscles as if it made any difference. As if they were able to get sore. He dressed himself in black jeans and a loose fitting white silk button-up, doing more than what was necessary because he decided he would have a visitor tonight since apparently the human was not here. Now was his chance to get a refill, and he wouldn’t miss it.

He trudged to the kitchen and lifted the rarely used telephone from its platform, dealing with the operator to connect to the hospital Zayn worked night shifts at and crossing his fingers that he was in tonight.

“Hello, you’ve reached Fair Care Hospital and Pharmacy, this is Susan, how can I help you tonight?” a bubbly voice asked, raising Harry’s shoulders in annoyance. Fake peppiness was dishonourable.

“Can I speak to Zayn Malik, please?” he responded monotonously, hoping the woman would just connect him without asking any prying questions.

“What is it in regards to?” she inquired, nearly successful at causing Harry to break the phone with his tightening grip.

“It’s about his wife and kids, and fairly urgent, so if I could just speak with him please,” he gritted, leaning back with satisfaction when the woman gasped and accepted the random tale. Human women were too easy to concern.

“Right away,” he heard before he was graced with jazz music in his ear while the woman likely ran around like a chicken with its head cut off to find Zayn in the basements.

“Umm…hello?” Zayn asked unsurely some odd minutes later, obviously puzzled by the story of his nonexistent wife and children.

“It’s me,” Harry revealed, sending a cackle to Zayn that flew back into his sensitive ear.

“I figured,” Zayn laughed, evidently covering his mouth to muffle the sound before someone heard the jovial turn of the conversation. “What’s happening, my elder companion?” he asked when he’d calmed down enough to do so.

“Bit of a drought, Zayn, when do you get off?” Harry asked simply, never one to beat around the bush of the topic, or so the humans say.

“Ahhh,” Zayn drawled in an accusing tone, “I knew you’d only call when you needed something.”

“Zayn,” Harry warned, vehemently opposed to bickering over superficial problems.

“Alright, alright,” Zayn sighed, forever unable to get his quippy wit in with a vampire as old as Harry. “I get off at two. Same as always, you airhead,” he reminded as if Harry should have been paying attention to his schedule.

“I care not for your degraded lingo,” Harry sneered superiorly, a thousand years done with this conversation already.

“Get with the times, Grandpa. You sound particularly off, are you okay?” Zayn asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. If anything had the power to get the unfeeling Harry Styles out of sorts, it was probably pretty formidable.

“Agh,” Harry growled, breaking down the collected exterior and confirming Zayn’s ever accurate suspicions. “Not exactly. I’ll explain when you get here. I expect you before three. You better bring the whole bank.”

“As much as I can get away with,” Zayn said seriously, pausing his notorious game of teasing banter to respect the real troubles Harry seemed to be having.

“Good,” Harry grunted, slamming the phone forward onto its base on the wall and stomping to his living room before he would instinctively open the bloodless refrigerator and howl in disappointment.

He’d only really planned to sniff the couch like a madman and throw away his note, but when he noticed it had a response, his plans halted their commencement. He crashed onto his side atop the cushions of the couch and slapped the note off the side of the table, catching it in his fingers and reading the spellbinding words:  

~

_My name is Louis._

~

“Louis,” he tested, dragging it out and rolling it off his tongue. “Louis. Louis, I’ve always hated that name, Louis. _Louis_ …huh,” he said with a shrug, pocketing the note as he walked to his music room. He knew almost everything basic about the boy now, but he still didn’t know his face. He hadn’t seen that yet, but something told him he was beautiful.

Harry didn’t fully understand why Louis hadn’t come back after many days and nights in a row, but the human probably had a good reason at his disposal. _A good excuse,_ his mind taunted to him, sparking a plethora of paranoid theories that something had terrified the poor Louis and he was never ever coming back ever.

“Honestly,” Harry muttered, disappointed in himself for caring about such a blip of a thing. It was unprecedented that any human would ever kindle his interest, but there was no denying Louis was a bit different—considering a week ago he’d have painted anyone as mad if they’d prophesied that in a few days’ time, a bruised and toasty human would crash on his couch and mumble “Hadrian” in his sleep.

Yes, this human was on a much different level than any of his kind, and Harry would get to the bottom of it; but he could only _do_ that if Louis came back, and there was no guarantee that would happen. Louis’ adorable response on the note was the only comfort Harry had that their little chapter of his unnaturally prolonged story hadn’t ended yet; but no matter what happened, Harry knew he would keep that note.

He headed straight for his acoustic guitar when he swept into the room, prohibiting himself from taking even one glance at the piano because he wanted to distract himself from Louis, not let the boy set up permanent residence in his mind.

Vampires are testy beings if he can say that about himself. They don’t forgive, and they don’t forget. This Louis creature had already done more damage to Harry than he was likely worth, and worse still was the realization that Harry wasn’t mad about it in the slightest. Only curious.

He walked back to the couch holding the guitar by its neck, barking for Martin to come downstairs so he could get his bidding done without struggle.

“Yes, Master?” Martin squeaked, running with intermittent hops to the landing to peer down while he frantically tied his shoes.

“Where did your professional butler act go?” Harry questioned, raising an eyebrow at the clumsy Frenchman.

“Do allow me to apologize, Master Harry. I’ve just been reading this series with human speed so I can experience the story like they do, and I get so into it that I lose track of time and duty, but did you know that Gandalf the Grey and the White Wizard are _actually_ —”

“Martin,” Harry warned lightheartedly, putting a stop to the fast-paced rant before it put him back to sleep—if only he _could_ sleep.

“Sorry,” Martin said shyly, clearing his throat in embarrassment and hopping down off the railings, straightening his top coat when he landed as he fiddled with his gloves. “Why have you called me?”

“I’m far too dead at the moment,” Harry informed, waving his hand at his butler to send him to the kitchen.

“Ah,” Martin interjected carefully, frozen in his spot and shifting his weight awkwardly. “There’s actually…none left in the—”

“Yes, of course,” Harry realized, having forgotten all about his conversation with Zayn. “Zayn will be here at three, and I do not believe Louis will be coming back tonight. Which means I’d like you to check on our hedges and flowers, please. Revive them if possible. If not, go into town and start over.”

“Louis…” Martin repeated in confusion, wracking his brain for who the bloody hell that could be. “Oh, the human?” he gasped before Harry had the chance to explain.  

“Yes, the human. His name is Louis I’ve just discovered,” Harry confirmed, forcing his hand to halt because the treasonous body part had begun to reach for the note in his pocket. For what possible purpose, he cannot say. To smell it is a good guess, though.

“Louis, eh? That’s a…that’s a _terrible_ name, wow,” Martin noted with pointed distaste, scrunching his nose and pivoting on the ball of his foot to wander outside and deal with the gardens.

Harry watched him walk out and hung his head down when the doors closed behind his butler, leaving him and his guitar to their own business. It was only nine o’clock at night, but time was a fickle thing for his species—it dragged on like Chinese water torture, but it was effortless to get lost in. He saw no downside to mindlessly strumming his guitar until his manically energized acquaintance made his dramatic appearance at three, so away he strummed.

 

\---

 

Six hours had gone by and Harry’s innocent guitar fun had evolved into a serious writing session like it always does, and he was contentedly scribbling a G-chord onto his sheet music to further the song when his doors burst open, followed by Zayn flying into the room with a stack of boxes in his arms.

“I vant to geeve you blaahd,” he cried theatrically, dropping his fangs and throwing a playful hiss in Harry’s direction.

“Stop it,” Harry deadpanned, jabbing his thumb toward the kitchen. “Put those in the fridge.”

“Alright, alright,” Zayn sighed, still patiently waiting for the day when Harry will pull the oversized branch out of his dusty asshole and fucking smile for once. “It smells very odd in this house, by the way. Have you had a—uhh, Harry?” he distractedly addressed his ancient friend, staring in disbelief at the inaccessible refrigerator.

“What,” Harry boredly responded, setting his guitar down and leaning it on the cushions to come back to later. He made his way to the kitchen, repressing a short bout of laughter when he caught sight of Zayn’s helpless expression. “Martin!” he bellowed, taking a seat at the table without giving any explanation.

Martin scurried into the kitchen scene and quickly put two and two together, snatching his set of his keys from his apron and juggling them to find the right one. “Sorry about that, Mister Zayn,” he apologized, unlocking the padlock and tossing the chains away to set the appliance free.

“Mind telling me what that’s all about?” Zayn asked as he cut through the tape on one of the boxes with a sharp claw, subsequently depositing the blood bags into the fridge one by one.

“I don’t really know where to start,” Harry admitted, whipping Zayn around in the flash of a second.

“Excuse me?” Zayn demanded in fascination, still putting the bags away but keeping his eyes locked onto Harry’s hesitant demeanor. He’d never in their entire friendship ever heard Harry pause a sentence to contemplate what to say. He tossed the emptied box over his shoulder and immediately started on the next one, giving Harry a crazed look to hurry him up.

“Shall I let him in on our current affairs, My Lord?” Martin piped, nodding his head and exiting the room when Harry kindly waved him off.

“His name is Louis,” Harry vaguely supplied, refusing to meet Zayn’s eyes because he knew what he would find. “I’ve had a bit of a human invasion. Well, just one, really. A young boy. I don’t know, he came here one night with a bloody wound and left a rag behind, and I tasted it, and…” he trailed off, deciding to wait before saying more and go off whatever Zayn gave as a reply.

“And?” Zayn asked with wide eyes, using his full speed to get all the bags into the fridge before leaping onto the chair across from Harry.

“Dammit Zayn,” Harry cursed, nervously messing with his hair and sighing to the ceiling. “I’m beyond addicted to him. He just left this morning. Stayed for the whole weekend, but obviously hasn't come back yet. First night he hasn't been roaming around my house in almost a week,” he revealed, secretly fiddling with the rag around his wrist under the table.

“Wait, so…so you’ve never—”

“No,” Harry instantly quipped, rather wishing he _had_ gotten Louis’ taste directly from the source. “He’s never seen me,” he grumbled.

Zayn wordlessly zipped to the fridge, pulling out three bags and tossing one to Harry, who caught it without looking and ripped it open with his teeth. “Hey, Martin!” Zayn called aimlessly, slapping a bag to the butler’s chest when he made an appearance and taking the last one for himself.

“This human is fucking me up, Zayn,” Harry shamefully admitted, sucking the blood out of the bag—like he would if it were skin—instead of knocking it back to drink normally.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Zayn replied, taking a sip of his bag and closing his eyes, moaning when the drug took effect, coursing through his veins and sending pleasure to every inch of his body.

“Do your heated whining somewhere that is _not_ in my presence, please,” Harry said disapprovingly, squinting his eyes at the vampire teenager and feeding his superior ego while he fed his veins.

“I don’t know how you keep it together, Harry,” Zayn noted, always impressed with the vampire’s staggering restraint. “Does it just get easier with time? I’m two hundred years old, and still every time is like the first,” he groaned in bliss, bringing the bag back to his lips to get himself even higher.

“It does, I suppose. But I found something so much better than this. Stuff like this will never compare to what I’ve tasted,” he sulked, turning the bag every which way and willing its contents to morph into Louis’ savory essence.

“The human?” Zayn guessed, amazed that Harry could be so taken with something when all he’d ever passed himself off to be was an unfeeling and decrepit scrooge.

“Louis,” Harry specified, his wistfulness dangerously degrading into a menacing glare at the blood bag, prompting Zayn to gently take it from him before the floor was spattered with it, and return it to the fridge for later consumption.

“You know what you need?” he asked the old Roman, placing a daring hand on Harry’s forearm to get his attention.

“Don’t touch me,” Harry growled, causing Zayn to fly back in self-preservation because he wasn’t an idiot. “What do I need?” he tried again nicely after his personal bubble was restored.

“A night out,” Zayn said breezily, like that was the answer to everything.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Come on, Harry. When’s the last time you went to the Sharp Tongue?” Zayn asked pointedly, of course referring to the underground dance club that only opened its doors for vampires and knowledgeable humans who wished to lose their minds on a dance floor.

“Disgusting,” Harry spat, gagging from the mere thought of the horde of naïve and underdeveloped creatures grinding, thrusting, biting, and sucking in the center of a suffocating dance floor. “A sex party for baby vampires and ignorant fang whores? You can count me out,” he scoffed, standing from the table and sauntering back to the couch, where he sank into it like one would if they were trying to become one with the furniture.

“The fang whores are the best part,” Zayn argued, shoving his way in-between Harry’s knees and the coffee table, taking a seat and leaning forward to plead his case with the utmost sincerity. “There’s a whole world out there of humans throwing themselves at us like we’re Gods, running to our mouths _neck first_ if that’s even possible. I know they’ll get your mind off this human. Shit, maybe one of them will taste even better than he does,” he unsurely predicted, cringing at Harry’s dark eye contact.

“Those humans have no clue what they are doing. If they're not committed blood-partners to one immortal, they're disgusting to me. It makes them just the same uncontrollable addicts that we are, why would I want to combine that debauchery? I have no interest in making humans orgasm, especially ones I wouldn’t have to chase first or have all to myself,” he added, shocking himself by unveiling that telling exception.

“Ah-hah! So you _are_ interested in humans,” Zayn cheered victoriously, happy that he got even one little thing out of the unreadable immortal.

“Just one,” harry corrected grudgingly, thinking the proposition over and having a change of heart. “Alright, Zayn. Let’s go to the Sharp Tongue. For no other reason besides me showing you how bored I will be so you’ll never fucking bother me about it again.”

“That’s a deal, but it’ll have to be tomorrow night, it’s too late now,” Zayn said sadly, standing and cracking his back as he followed the unspoken instinct that said it was time to leave.

“Just call me first,” Harry said sternly, leading him to the front doors and holding one open for him. “If the human returns, I will not leave from this place. You’ll have to verify I’m alone before bounding over here with your shrieks of overbearing excitement.”

“Deal,” Zayn agreed, bowing respectfully to his elder and skipping down the steps of the mansion’s porch. “Can I meet him someday?” he turned back to ask the exasperated Roman.

Harry shook his head tiredly and pinched the bridge of his nose, giving his shoulders a shrug before peeking out over his fingers. “I can’t even begin to answer that yet,” he answered truthfully, at the sheer mercy of the fates and what they had planned for Louis.

“That’s a yes, I can already tell,” Zayn said happily, disappearing from sight before Harry could throw any more patronizing remarks at him.

“Child,” Harry bit harshly, repressing his smile as he slunk back into his home, forsaking his patient guitar to get more blood from the kitchen. _You. Clubbing,_ he chided to himself, rolling his eyes and lying down on the table as though it were a bed, while he ripped the corner off a new bag and poured the blood into his open mouth, not stopping to breathe once.

He did away with the bag like the floor was his personal trash can—it was—and traveled to his library to see what the human had gotten his little mittens into lately. Louis’ scent created an unignorable pathway through the first corridor, and Harry followed it down, sighing with every breath he took because the air was rich and thick with heaven.

He arrived at his round table and raised his eyebrow when his diary was the only thing on display. It was clearly tampered with and carefully rearranged to appear untouched, but Louis never would have been able to erase his presence from Harry’s notice.

Sensing more of Louis’ scent behind him, he turned and walked to the edge of the last row, bending down to get eye level with all the other journals he had. “ _Christ_ , you do like to pry, don’t you?” he muttered to the air, running his hands across the spines of the journals and pausing when he realized exactly what a human reading them would undoubtedly cause: a blown little mind.

“Oh dear,” he chuckled, holding a hand over his mouth when he imagined the human’s bewilderment. He really didn’t write that much or he’d have several libraries to fill, but he tended to go to them with big events in his existence, which meant the dates progressed rather quickly—and Louis had apparently sifted through every single one of them.

Though irritated at first, Harry couldn’t actually stay mad at the human for creeping around texts that would be unthinkably fascinating to discover, nonsensical or not. The vampire was simply bemused at where Louis’ jumbled thoughts had taken him; what they could have theorized to make sense of everything he’d read. “Poor baby,” Harry cooed, returning to the round table and flicking a corner of his latest journal to spin it in a circle. “Must be so confused.”

He resumed his investigative stroll through his own library to find other traces of his curious Louis, and was dumbfounded when he found a very unexpected object with the human’s aura embedded in it. An understandable reaction considering it was Alexander’s _Iliad_. Oppositely placed of the journals, up on the highest shelf, shoved between clone books that all looked exactly the same, and this was the _only_ thing Louis had touched.

“Mysterious,” he whispered, silently jumping onto the top step of the ladder and pulling the tale out. Everything was completely normal with its condition, only now it had turned into a human perfume epicenter, and Harry put it back before any accidental harm came to Alexander’s book. He didn’t necessarily fear himself sinking his teeth into a dusty book, but anything is possible these days.

There was odd feeling brewing in his chest that as random as these happenstances seemed, they were actually very intentional works of fate. How true is his hunch? The number of coincidences and frankly unsettling instances surrounding this Louis situation were enough to hurl Harry in a whirlwind of uncertainty, and nothing has had the power to do that since—

“Will he return?” Martin asked softly from the opening of the row, gulping when Harry’s head sluggishly turned to stare at him with those mysterious eyes of his. You could never guess what this immortal was thinking, and that was rarely a good thing.

“Yes,” Harry pledged as if he were the puppet master pulling the strings of this entire operation. “And if he doesn’t come back, which he will, but if he _doesn’t_ —” he continued, jumping off the ladder and floating to the ground, walking down the corridor to exit the library like he was going to run Martin over if the butler didn’t move. “—I’ll find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry guys. I'll upload 6 early tomorrow to make up for it.


	6. And He Was Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They meet.  
> Song interpretation AT THE MANSION: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryEdLoDOm4w&index=10  
> ^^ That without the mistakes lol. Use your noodle. The classroom one is a bit different, asdfhjkl

Louis held his breath and his tears as the toilet water flushed around his submerged head, not even fighting back against the unknown number of disgusting hands pressing themselves into his back—hands more filthy than the toilet itself.

“Alright, I think he’s had enough,” Troy announced, yanking Louis back by his shirt and dumping him off to the side to curl into a ball on the ground.

“What?” Blake asked angrily, having looked forward to multiple swirlies all day.

“Look at him, he’s good. Not worth any more of our time, he’s already cut into five minutes of lunch. Wash your hands, let’s get out of here,” he ordered, shooing his lackeys to the sinks while he stared hard at the pathetic form that was Louis.

Louis lifted his head from the floor and met Troy’s eyes, slowly shaking his head to display his disappointment in Troy’s character, even if it happened to be beneficial to him. See, Louis hated Troy more than you’ve probably ever hated anyone, but this hatred always managed to reach new boundaries when the football captain “went easy on him.”

At least Louis could depend on asshole Troy to flaunt his sadistic and unapologetic asshole self, but it was this regretful side of him that Louis despised with a fiery passion. Experiencing second thoughts on doing something cruel to another person and then doing it regardless was a real shitty and dishonourable way to live your life. Be evil, or be righteous; don’t randomly flip between the two and trap your victim in a constant state of ambiguous trepidation.

Troy squinted his eyes in anger at Louis’ obvious hatred, thinking that maybe he would have gotten more of a reverent look for helping him when he didn’t have to. “Next time won’t be so easy for you, Tomlinson,” he warned, following his posse when they whined at him for taking too long.

“Good. At least I’ll know what to fucking expect,” he bit sourly, squeezing his eyes shut when the door opened again. It was one thing to get a swirlie at school, but it was another entirely to get humiliated by some random student who happened across his pitiful condition.

“Here,” a familiar voice said softly, a fluffy material brushing against his face.

Louis sighed and took the towel from his saviour’s hands, drying his face and looking up to behold Niall’s upset expression. “Thanks, Ni,” he said, getting pulled to his feet and guided to the sinks where the blonde would run his hair under the sink water. Louis scoffed when his best friend pulled a bottle of shampoo out of his bag, but he shouldn’t have been all that surprised.

“Just close your eyes,” Niall instructed as he gently pushed Louis under the nozzle, genuinely washing his hair as though he were a salon worker, scrubbing the product deep into Louis’ scalp.

“You’re amazing,” Louis muffled from the sink, trying not to giggle because it did honestly tickle a bit.

“Don’t talk,” Niall scolded, doing a final rinse and attacking Louis’ hair with the clean side of the towel. He straightened him up while he dried his hair, and dropped it on his shoulders when he was done, taking a thistled hairbrush to it instead to make it socially acceptable.

“What would I even do without you?” Louis begged, throwing his arms around Niall’s neck before he was done fixing his hair.

“Oh, honestly,” Niall chided, using the mirror to rearrange the back of Louis’ hair, “You would walk around with wet hair,” he said obviously, never very accepting of compliments.

“Yeah…right,” Louis agreed dispiritedly, deciding to deconstruct the modest Niall another time. “Why did that even happen?” he asked rhetorically.

“Mr. Anderson is absent today,” Niall informed, linking his arm around Louis’ elbow and leading him out of the bathroom to finally get some lunch in. “He has a sub filling in, and I guess he didn’t give said sub the lowdown on your guard duty.”

“I can’t be mad. It’s a miracle that he even does it himself; a few days here and there are a piece of cake compared to the old daily ritual,” Louis recognized, forever indebted to that saviour of a teacher.

“Come on, we gotta hurry or some dweebs will take our spot,” Niall whined as if that was a serious problem that shouldn’t be understated.

“Aren’t _we_ those dweebs?” Louis countered, trying to scoop the water out of his ears with his index finger as they walked.

“No,” Niall immediately defended, roughing his knuckles into his best friend’s semi-dry hair to give him the all-the-rage porcupine look. “ _I_ happen to be the tennis captain, and _you_ happen to be Bach’s great-great nephew,” he reasoned with a straight face, not stopping regardless of Louis’ bouncy laughter. “Pretty far out cats if you ask me. Now shut up and move your feet. I’ve got some Maura-made apple pie in my bag. Once you eat this, you’ll be forever indebted to _me_.”

“Did I say that out loud? About being indebted to Mr. Anderson?” Louis asked in shock, previously under the impression that particular remark had been a passing thought.

Niall snorted into the back of his hand and pulled out another new edition of Superman, opening the comic to the page he’d marked and not paying Louis any more direct visual attention. “Louis, hate to tell you this…but you say almost everything out loud.”

“Well that’s certainly not my intent—oh my god, Niall!” Louis gasped, whipping his backpack off his shoulders and shoving his arms inside up to the elbows, pulling out one of his notebooks and flipping to the desired page.

Niall’s head snapped up from the comic he’d just started, and he curiously stared at Louis while he went psycho mode about a notebook. “Yes?” he asked carefully, getting a face full of French when Louis practically punched him with the spiral pages.

“Can you understand this?” Louis demanded hopefully, his expression losing its luster when Niall only blinked at him from over the passage.

“No?” the blonde replied with confusion, giving it another once over and realizing he couldn’t even try. Not with his grades.

“Could your French teacher? Please, it’s really important,” Louis whined, retracting the pages from Niall’s personal space and scrutinizing them himself.

“Well yeah, obviously. Do you want me to take you to her?” he offered, slowly nodding to give encouragement when Louis practically vibrated in agreement. “Alright, let’s go then,” he said, leading Louis toward a place with answers for his otherwise hopeless conundrums.

Niall opened the door and was exalted to discover Mrs. Poulain was at her desk grading papers by herself. He really didn’t want to let Louis down after that look of pure glee in his eyes.

The warm-hearted woman looked up over her glasses and smiled when the two boys timidly entered, removing the sharply-angled spectacles and letting them dangle from the string around her neck while she leaned forward in interest. “What can I help you boys with?” she inquired with her thick French accent.

“My name is Louis, and I need your help, will you help me?” Louis stuttered nervously, already holding the notebook out to her regardless of what she would say.

Confronted with her language, she eagerly took the book from the boy’s hands and met his eyes to verify the predicament. “You want this translated?”

“Yes please,” he confirmed, clasping his hands together in blatant excitement.

“Hey, Louis I’m gonna go save those seats, okay? Be there soon, don’t forget about the pie, alright?” Niall interjected, notoriously putting food first before life itself.

“Yeah, I’m down,” Louis rushed to reply, waving Niall off as he zipped out through the door and down the hall. He instantly turned back to the redhead French teacher and pulled out a chair to sit in while she let him in on the world’s greatest secret— _his_ world, at least. "Thank you so much for doing this, I really can't stress how amazing this is," he gushed, giving the teacher his biggest grin.

Mrs. Poulain smiled and cleared her throat in preparation, shifting her eyes down at the words and commencing the translating. “ _My dear Alexander_ ,” she began, scooting forward with her rolling chair and resting her elbows on the desk. “ _I returned to our beautiful France. However, the things I saw were not the most beautiful. During the reign of King Louis XVI, the revolution of the New World completely devastated the_ …” she trailed, having gradually slowed down with every unbelievable word she read. “Where did you find these words?” she asked, boring her eyes into Louis’.

“Er…I copied them down from an old book. I mean there was an old book, an-and I wrote down the things I didn’t know because I don’t...uh, speak French,” he stuttered poorly, nearly shaking in his chair because he knew the notoriously impossible recollections of the mansion owner. What had he just given to the outside world?

“This is…” Mrs. Poulain breathed, reading it once through before audibly informing the student of its context.

“Please tell me,” Louis begged, ignoring the suspicious gaze he got for his insistence.

Mrs. Poulain cleared her throat once more and raised the passage back up under her nose to read it without her glasses. “... _completely devastated the French economy. The good citizens were furious as I had never seen them before. In their anger, they themselves decided to initiate a Revolution. However, this one has gone wrong, and at a speed we are not proud of. I did what I could, but without all my power they had no chance against the cruelty of the soldiers. Lives by thousands were uselessly lost, and now the cobbled streets of Paris are irrevocably tainted with the blood of innocent people_ ,” she read, leaning back to sneeze before resuming so she wouldn’t do it on the paper.

“Holy fucking shit,” Louis muttered as he began to understand the letter, now convinced that it wasn’t just an art project—not with this detail. Was it the owner?

“This is quite a miraculous find,” Mrs. Poulain praised, still lost in a tangle of doubt over its authenticity, but she was leaning heavily toward it being so.

“I know, everything is! Please continue,” he urged politely, his butt hanging over the edge of the chair because he would rather sit on the teacher’s desk at this point.

“ _I know you told me not to meddle in human political affairs, but you can consider it as a reimbursement for Rome. I think if you had been there, you would have forbidden me to interfere, but it is needless to emphasize the obvious—_ ”

“Oh my god, Rome!” Louis cried, fisting his hair as he jumped from his seat and gave the woman a manic and desperate look. _Can this be?_ he thought, his heart rate surpassing the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. “Go on!”

“ _I saved a young man named Martin from the wreckage of war, and together we shall travel to the New World in search of peace and refuge from the disasters that ravage Europe. Perhaps we can prosper in our solitude, far from the howls of the dying. Your legacy has not been forgotten, if you wish to know. And not only in my eyes, because you are deeply rooted in the whispers of history. During all these years, during the...18Endless...you have remained Great_..." she read, her eyebrows cinching together in confusion at the wording of the year.

"IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL!" Louis shouted in spite of her puzzlement, slapping both hands over his mouth so she could finish. "Don't stop!" he muffled.

"... _But greater to no creature in this world more than I. Until the end of all, Harry Styles_ ,” she finished with a long sigh, having just lost a few years off her live from the excitement of that letter.

“Thank you,” Louis rushed, returning the notebook to his bag after ripping it from her hands, and making a break for it.

“Wait!” she cried, stopping Louis halfway across the room and watching him turn ever so slowly to address her.

“Yes?” he asked innocently, teeming with joy at unlocking another clue. He had to repeat the words again and again in his mind or else he would forget them, and he couldn’t have anything distract him from that.

“Where did you find it?” she asked again, hoping for a real answer this time.

“Oz,” he said bluntly, cringing at his impolite snark and sprinting out before she could guilt-trip him into staying.

 _So you were in the French Revolution, were you, Harry? You already outed yourself by signing your name onto the coffee table note…dumbass_ , he mentally scolded as respectfully as he could, in full understanding that if the owner were truly immortal, Louis wouldn’t last two seconds in a fight. _Is it true, Harry? Were you really there? And who the hell is Alexander?_

 

\---

 

“Okay, up next we haaaave—” Mr. Carey elongated unsurely, turning the page over and back again to find the listed name. “—ah, Louis. Of course, Louis. Will you come up and do your piece for the class?” he asked with an encouraging smile, gesturing to the piano in a way that was two sharp fingers jabs away from a demand.

“Yeah,” Louis said behind a throat clearing as he stood, walking to the piano bench and hunching his shoulders in embarrassment because he almost felt naked. The only reason this was happening was he’d been chosen to join the food chain of the Golden Gate Festival, which is an occurrence that happens every year for all the high schools in the state of Idaho.

Lowdown of the festival: schools in each district individually nominate their top pick products from theatre, music, dance, and art kids, and then the favourites are shown in an after-school assembly while festival judges watch and pick the most talented students to progress to the state competition. There, the students will duke it out once more to college scout judges interspersed in the audience, and one lucky student from each category is chosen for a full ride scholarship to an arts college. It’s usually for high school seniors only, but sometimes there’s an undeniably amazing junior every so often that is chosen anyway. Louis declined last year.

Talented kids who don’t want to go to an arts school do not participate, but Louis didn’t have much of a preference, or anything to lose anymore. He’d refused to take part as a junior because of the crippling fear of what his Father would do to him if he announced he was going to an arts school, but fuck that, right? He should do whatever he wants. Living under his Father’s roof is temporary anyway; but more importantly, so is life. Well…

“Whenever you’re ready, Lou,” Mr. Carey said brightly, sitting down on the corner of an empty desk and clasping his hands together atop his upper thighs.

Louis gave a tight and polite smile, facing the familiar instrument and forgoing the sheet music for _Year Endless_ , knowing his chances to leave everyone speechless from his skills were better had with his automatic and second-nature playing. He took a deep breath and brushed his fingers across the starting keys, entering that special place in his mind that allowed him to read the musical notes in his mind.

He completely lost track of time and space that way, offhandedly wondering just how long he had been sat on this stool playing this piece. He was vaguely aware of the students in the room, but they could honestly be figments of his imagination at this point. He slightly noticed that the song would soon come to a close, but he could have been playing it for five minutes as intended, or six hours, and he wouldn’t be able to tell you which.

However, right as those thoughts began to circulate in his confused and disconnected mind, suddenly there were no more keys to press, and he opened his eyes to a room of thunderous applause. He jolted two feet above the stool and crashed back down in shock, startled speechless from the unexpected acclaim. He really couldn’t remember that much of playing the song, only that it had started and ended in a time span that was evidently reasonable.

He slowly met every pair of eyes as their owners cheered for him, smiling and waving to them like a goddamn Princess. A lot of these jerks gave him a constant reason to call them jerks, but today it was different—today he was a world famous pianist. Even if just for five minutes, everything was okay.  

“Well done!” Mr. Carey cried, rapidly clapping his hands together so forcefully that Louis almost stopped him lest he suffer reddened palms for the rest of the day. “Beautiful! Just splendid!” he continued to praise, skipping and hollering his way to the piano where he slapped a tingling palm down on its surface and held another up in the air to silence the room.

Louis trained his eyes on his professor instead of the students who could so easily turn on him because they always fucking have. Mr. Carey had always been the only person in this entire establishment aside from Niall that he could trust, and the teacher knew that well.

“Okay, class,” he announced, repeating it and a few similar phrases several times to gradually kill the noise. “Alright. Without cheering, silently raise your hand if you want Louis to play for the school in the competition.”

Louis refused to look and bored his eyes into the teacher, dropping his mouth open when Mr. Carey glanced down at him from surveying the room and gave him a sly wink. As slowly as he could get away with, Louis pivoted on the bench, catching the first hand in view from the corner of his eye, and whipping his head around to see the consensus.

Every hand was raised. The unanimity of their decision was a staggeringly heavy reality to carry, and Louis quickly found himself blinking away two identical films of water that came over his eyes. They were congratulatory, they were smiling, and they were all in agreement…they liked him.

Louis stood to give a short bow and the bell to end school suddenly rang and jarred everyone out of their concentration. Mr. Carey excused them to feel like he had some measure of power, like they wouldn’t just leave anyway, and Louis stayed perfectly still until they would be left alone. He watched his fellow classmates fetch their bags and hop out of the room while excitedly gushing to each other about Louis’ piece. It was an odd sight to be witness to, and eventually the last boy was on his way out, throwing a “good job” in Louis’ direction before the door closed behind him.

Mr. Carey let Louis have a second to process his accomplishment, and then he couldn’t help diving into it himself. “Louis, that was utterly phenomenal, I’ve never heard you play like that before. And what you did to the song was brilliant, how ever did you come up with that rendition?” he implored, resting his chin in his palms like he was a child hearing a heroic tale from his Grandfather about “the war.”

“Excuse me, but did you say rendition?” Louis asked instead, not understanding how this time was any different from the others.

Mr. Carey dropped his arms down and furrowed his eyebrows, pointing at the piano like that might jog Louis’ memory. “What do you—it was _very_ different, Louis. You played it differently, there was much more to it. Almost like you finished it,” he informed, craning his neck to make direct eye contact with his jumbled student. “Louis?” he asked carefully, fighting the urge to touch his forehead in search of a potential fever.

“I…didn’t realize,” Louis said softly, discovering he had an actual gap in his memory. _What did I even do?_

“I think that means you just entered a musician’s zone and lost yourself entirely in the song,” Mr. Carey guessed, in awe of his little prodigy’s genius.

“Well that’s no good,” Louis protested, staring at the piano like it might illuminate the keys he used. “If I don’t know what I did, how am I supposed to recreate it?”

Mr. Carey laughed and rubbed his hand in a circle over Louis’ right shoulder blade, leaving him with a small pat and collecting his own things from his desk. “I wouldn’t worry about that too much, Louis. It will be different, but knowing you, it’ll be even better.”

Louis giggled and packed his things in time with the teacher, both exiting the room as Niall ran in. “Shit, Niall,” Louis cursed as the blonde smashed into him, almost toppling both of them to the ground.

“Sorry, sorry,” Niall apologized, steadying his friend before damage could be done. “I heard you killed it in there. I literally heard people talking about it in the halls on my way, what happened?” he inquired, looking back and forth between Louis and Mr. Carey for answers.

“A stroke of mastery,” Mr. Carey said truthfully, nodding to his favourite student and taking his leave.

Louis waved and turned his attention back on Niall, accepting the arm that snaked around him and led him to the bike racks. “I really don’t know, Ni. I can’t exactly remember what I did,” he admitted, still trying to recall the steps he took to summon such applause from his judgmental student kin.

“Well, whatever it was, it worked,” Niall noted, quickening their pace to the front of the school before the team had a chance to plot against them with no one else around.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Louis asked shyly, earning a scoff in response.

“Nevermind that being a question, but yes, of course,” Niall confirmed, letting Louis leave from his arms to unlock his bike.

“Can I stay over at your house for a while? I’m hungry and dirty, and neither of those things will be rectified at my pad.”

“Shit, of _course_ , Louis. You don’t have to ask for things like that. Come on, I’ll take care of you,” Niall promised instantly, taking over the bike transport duty and rolling it across the pavement as they walked to Niall’s blindingly white truck.

“Tha—”

“And I swear, if you thank me, I’ll change my mind,” Niall jokingly warned, lifting the bicycle with impressive strength and setting it down in the bed of the truck.

“Alright fine,” Louis sighed, accepting the door that was chivalrously opened for him and climbing into the lifted vehicle with a firm push on his butt for assistance.

Niall shut the door for him and jogged around to the driver’s seat, stopping in his tracks when he found the football team across the parking lot smirking at them and cracking their knuckles like the threatening bullies they were. He flipped them a fearless middle finger and jumped into his truck, depriving them the pleasure of having the last word or crude gesture.

“You like being a target, don’t you?” Louis accused, shaking his head fondly at Niall’s constant antics. “You know they’re going to take all of their hatred for me and pour it into you instead. For not only associating with me, but constantly challenging them. Like an idiot, I might add,” he scolded, leaning back in his seat when the truck roared to life and vibrated his sore spine.

“Hey, I am no idiot,” Niall argued, turning in his seat to gape at Louis in mock offense. “I’m a knight,” he declared passionately, adding a hand over his heart for effect.

“Yes, in _shining armor_ ,” Louis agreed in exasperation, waving his hand in the general direction of the main road. “Now can we _go_ , please?”

“Sure thing, little lady,” the blonde said in a deep southern tone, throwing Louis’ head back in laughter as a result.

“Just don’t come crying to me when they abuse you too. I’ve always warned you about that shit, but if you’re willingly walking into it, the spectrum of what I can do is now null and void,” he informed, only half-joking about the subject.

“I’d face a lot for you,” Niall pledged, quickly backtracking that seemingly romantic confession. “In itself. I don’t have any underlying ulterior motives—”

“Niall, I know. Just throw me in your shower,” Louis chuckled, sinking down in the passenger seat and staring out the sliver of the window just below his eyes.

“In you’ll be thrown,” Niall replied, flicking the radio on and instantly turning the volume up, both boys tuning out the real world and inviting Elton John’s _Rocket Man_ to be the only thing left.

 

\---

 

“Hey, brought some extra towels, they’re on the counter,” Niall shouted into the bathroom to be heard over the blaring pelt of water on the shower tiles.

“Thanks,” Louis called back equally as loudly, putting his head back under the stream when the door closed with Niall’s retreat. Louis knew he was probably making shit worse for himself by staying away from home, but when you’ve had a small taste of freedom, you’re ignorantly willing to endure all the repercussions you’ll face for those few instances of safety and comfort.  

At least that’s what he’d decided, and may the Gods help him when he gets back home tonight. It’s gonna blow.

He stepped out of the shower and tried not to slip on the tiles while crossing the floor, getting to the towels successfully and bundling himself like a burrito as he shivered from the unforgivingly cold air. He spent the shortest amount of time in that condition as possible, shaking himself as a dog would and jumping into the clothes Niall lent him, tackling his hair with the dryer.

Niall walked in at that moment with the assumption that Louis was decent enough for company, and he sat down on the closed toilet seat, placing his face against the counter as he observed Louis’ rigorous hair routine.

“What?” Louis shouted, turning the dryer down a notch to catch what Niall had tried to say.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve been so sneaky lately?” Niall repeated as politely as possible, not wanting to come off as aggressive and demanding.

“Argh,” Louis growled, holding up a finger and turning the switch back up to high so he could finish his hair first. He actually just needed the time to conjure up some fabricated but highly believable excuse, but what Niall didn’t know didn’t…actually no, it did hurt him, that was the whole point.

Niall straightened his spine and sat up like a lemur when Louis finished, anxiously anticipating the golden explanation his best friend would finally bestow upon him.

“I’m pregnant,” Louis deadpanned with utter seriousness in his face, almost causing Niall to ask whose it was.

“You—wait! Louis, no you’re not, what the fuck,” Niall fumbled, dropping his face in his hands and cursing himself for even imagining he’d get a truthful confession…and for initially believing that heap of bullshit.

“No, I’m not,” Louis admitted, still paying more attention to himself in the mirror than the antsy Niall on the toilet. “I’m on the pill,” Louis added without even a crack to his gravely sincere exterior.

“I’m going to kill you,” Niall muttered, dropping his head back on the counter and rolling his head side to side in place of shaking it.

“I’ll tell you,” Louis relented, immediately getting Niall’s ready but heavily guarded interest. “I…have a boyfriend,” he blurted out of nowhere, all prior ideas of stories to tell flying out the window.

“No shit!” Niall gasped in surprise, jumping up and gripping onto Louis’ shoulders like they were handlebars he was dangling from. “Tell me everything.”

“Well…he—”

“Come on, boys! Dinner’s ready, hurry on up!” Maura sang from downstairs, jarring both Louis and Niall out of their heated discussion because food.

“Coming!” Niall responded without breaking eye contact, pointing a finger at Louis as he passed on his way out and swearing that, “This isn’t over.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Louis muttered, shrugging at himself in the mirror and following the blonde out, trampling down the steps of the thickly carpeted stairs. He at least had time to get his ducks in a row before Niall would ask again, and Louis would use every second of dinner time to his advantage so that when he was inevitably cornered and pressed for a crapload of nonexistent details, he’d be ready.

 

\---

 

Dinner passed by in a flash because Louis sucked everything in front of him into his stomach like he was a damn vacuum, and the time then came for Niall to drive Louis back home. Even though the blonde vocally protested tossing Louis back into the fray of his home life with great fervor, Louis knew that he had to face his punishments like a man. Hiding away and leaving his poor Mother to deal with Troy’s drunken antics by herself was not at all an honourable thing to do, and there was only so long he could go before getting crushed under the weight of that guilt.

“You ready?” Niall asked as he hopped in place to put his second shoe on, grabbing his keys off the little table by the door and jangling them in invitation.

“As I’ll ever be,” Louis responded solemnly, unable to keep an excess of pep in his words. They both knew he would be lying anyway.

“Okay…let’s go,” Niall said with great difficulty, physically using the front door jamb to propel himself outside, because the only thing he wanted to do was carry his best friend right back up the stairs and bundle him up in fuzzy blankets.

They pulled themselves into Niall’s truck and the blonde rolled out onto the road, turning his windshield wipers on to fight the drizzle of rain against it. You know the kind—the kind that is barely noticeable when you’re outside in the open, but compares to being submerged in a lake when you’re driving a car.

“So. Talk,” Niall demanded, straightening Louis up in his seat as he took a deep breath to dive into his decided narrative.

“Alright well...his name is Harry, and he lives by himself, so we have the right resources, not to mention free time, to be together without problems,” Louis bullshitted, crossing his fingers that using the mysterious Harry Styles to create this lie wouldn’t backfire on him like shooting an old rifle would. That had dislocated his shoulder.

“Harry…he has his own place? So he doesn’t go to school, then?” Niall asked, continuing when Louis nodded his head. “How old is he?”

“...UMM?!” Louis squeaked, a blurt of incredibly forced laughter exploding from his throat. _Like a thousand fucking years,_ he screamed in his head, frantically scrambling for an acceptable answer. “Twenty two,” he pulled out of his ass, realizing full well that he could look like he was in his fifties—not to mention _not_ be immortal at all, but all signs currently point to infinity.

“Oh, that’s not _that_ bad,” Niall sighed in relief, climbing down off the worrisome ledge he’d been pushed to from Louis’ suspicious reaction. Harry could have been in his fifties or something. “I mean, you’re eighteen.”

“Right, yeah, that’s what I thought. It’s really not that big a deal, it’s just that we’d like to keep our relationship private, you know, ‘cuz it’s really nobody’s business, but I know I should have told you, it’s just that I didn’t want your parents finding out by accident or anything, like what if they listened in on our phone calls, not like my Father really lets me call anyone or anything, butwhatifIusedlikeapayphoneorsomethingandyouansweredandthentheyheardandtoldmy—”

“Louis!” Niall barked, drowning in his own suffocating laughter. “Christ, Louis, shut up.”

“Sorry,” Louis said pointedly slowly, realizing he’d gone a bit off track. “I may have rambled.”

“ _May have_? I don’t think you breathed once!” the blonde cackled, wiping under both of his eyes and patting Louis on the anxiously clenched thigh. “Don’t worry, Lou. My parents are not going to find out, your secret is safe with me. But you know this means I have to meet him now, right?” he said with a sly grin, practically glowing out of every pore with the blackmail-y power he’d just been granted with.

“What! Uh…well…” Louis mumbled, up ten thousand feet above ground in his head, frantically leaping across the floating stones of his ideas. “Soon,” he supplied unhelpfully, dangling off a slippery rock with certain death below.

“Fine,” Niall agreed with his eyes narrowed to slits, brooding and plotting the whole way to Louis’ home.

 

\---

 

“Thanks, Ni,” Louis whispered, giving the blonde a kiss on the cheek from outside the driver’s side door, waving him off as he crept down the neighborhood road to get back on the main street and return home.

Louis watched until the taillights turned the corner and then faced his shacky house with dread in his organs (pick one). He tiptoed to the creaky side-yard gate and opened it like a pro, lifting as he pushed it forward so the hinges didn’t scream “BOY IS HERE. DOING TOMFOOLERY,” and his formidable Father wouldn’t burst out of the garage like the Kool-Aid man and violently destroy him.

He stayed on his toes and trotted to his window, opening the sliding glass like a snail because it was loud no matter what you did. He reconciled with his shaky arm muscles to receive a little bit more power before they clocked out on him. Once the window was open enough to soar through, he shot-put his backpack into his room and reared back to make the jump himself.

The stunt was a bit louder than he would have chosen when his shoes hit the side of the house, but he strained his forearms to drag his upper body up the wall, so he could at least get inside _without_ getting caught in the act of returning, and then just hope for the best.

He dropped down and planted his feet into the carpet, standing as motionless as Stone Boy while he listened closely for any responding noises from his Father. As luck would have it, apparently the man was far too drunk to wake up from the commotion, and Louis sighed as his shoulders fell, stripping down to his underwear and sliding into bed to get all the rest he could.

His mind wouldn’t shut up about the English translation to the French letter. Aside from nerve-racking, it had also been highly amusing watching Mrs. Poulain’s helpless confusion at what she was reading, but what could he say? _Oh, this? No, don’t worry about it. This is just a letter from the haunted mansion that I’ve been going to the last week or so. It may seem confusing, but it’s actually just written by an immortal Roman/French man, isn’t that swell?_ he hypothetically rehearsed, quietly giggling into his pillowcase from the sheer audacity of the real explanation.

No matter what, he could never tell what he believed to be the truth, or it was off to the looney bin with him. He knew he had to get back soon because this owner was not someone Louis would ever accept going his whole life without seeing. In due time…

 

~~~

 

_“Of course I loved Rome!” Hadrian snapped, downing the rest of his horse blood and chucking the goblet to the side in anger. How dare this supposedly kind-hearted vampire taunt him with the loss of Rome—his only lasting foundation. “Would you tell me you did not love Macedon with the same fury?” he demanded pointedly, impatient for Alexander’s ‘oh so wise’ response._

_“Rome destroyed Macedon!” Alexander reminded just as coldly, clenching his fists and looking off to the side to control his bout of rage, resuming when he could better decrease the volume of his voice. “Of course I loved Macedon, but natural human conflict took it from me, as it erased your old Empire tonight. Such conflict is what transpires when their backs are turned—nothing, not even we, can stop it. We can’t have homes in Empires in a world like this; they will always crumble under the weight of discord,” he said with the wisdom Hadrian had expected._

_“Were you angry with Rome?” Hadrian inquired, hoping there was a secret to letting go the stings of loss._

_“Very much so,” Alexander admitted easily, leaving the sentence open-ended long enough for Hadrian to finally meet his eyes again. “168 b.c. was when everything in my old life fell to ruin. I’ve had ample time to forgive, and I have…that being said, I still hold firm to the belief that Rome had far too much power in this world. That vast Empire was continuously preventing the change that humans are in desperate need of—the single most natural trait in the their short-lived species. Change. Now I think they will be able to,” he explained, expertly omitting the fact that he was moderately guilt-ridden for the poor young vampire._

_“Humans,” Hadrian growled in distaste, rolling his eyes in spite of his superior company. “Are we not simply dead humans ourselves?” he challenged._

_“No, we most certainly are not. No human lives this long. Absolutely none live on after their death. When they age, they die for good, ending up in holes in the ground, loving family members who then surround that hole to mourn their departure. Strolling along through the centuries while this transpires is us. Never seeing the top of a sarcophagus or otherwise, we continue…it’s wrong and unnatural,” he pressed intensely, begging Hadrian to see reason._

_“We didn’t ask for it,” Hadrian muttered haughtily, hardly seeing the point in blaming themselves for what they were when the ones who made them this way were the only ones deserving of fault._

_“Did we not?” Alexander argued knowingly, enraging Hadrian for the thousandth time since meeting him on the battlefield._

_Before Hadrian could defend his conviction that he most certainly did not ask for any of this, something made him stop and think. The fellow in the prison cell had been obviously untrustworthy from the start, and he’d enticed him with such strange offers that maybe Hadrian could have refused if he’d tried, but he hadn’t. He’d accepted the agreement without knowing anything about it, or what would entail his willingness, and here he is almost three hundred years later, suffering the consequences day after day. “True…that we did. But we didn’t know,” he quickly rectified, still clinging to his innocence in this tiresome existence._

_“Perhaps you didn’t…but I did,” Alexander explained shamefully, heaving his shoulders in a long and self-hating sigh. “That’s the cause for which I won’t take human life anymore. It’s simply unjust to them! The mass of people I’ve killed wouldn’t have had to perish…if I’d only said no that one time,” he said sadly, hiding his face in his hands before he could do something truly embarrassing like cry in front of Hadrian._

_“Don’t forget that humans love it,” Hadrian reminded carelessly, not even noticing Alexander’s furiously darkened eyes peeking out over his hands. “Whatever poison is in our saliva gives them orgasmic pleasure—”_

_“And what of their families?” Alexander growled, disgusted that Hadrian had no sight on the big picture at all. “Everything is fine for the dead at our hands, sure! They leave the world with their release running down their thighs and blissful smiles on their unsuspecting faces…it’s the Mothers, Hadrian. It’s the Mothers whose sons never came home. The potential pregnant wife we widow in our blinded escapade for our own gratification. Do you feel nothing for their suffering?” he spat hatefully, two more ignorant statements away from kicking the pretty vampire out of his house._

_“I’m a Roman,” Hadrian mentioned needlessly, shrugging his shoulders a tad more seriously. “I’m not supposed to have feelings at all. We men of Rome are even prohibited from wearing sleeves on our arms, how could we ever wear our hearts on something that doesn’t exist?”_

_“Poetic,” Alexander deadpanned, secretly forgiving every crime against decency the ‘Heartless Roman’ had committed. “Never allowed to wear your heart on your sleeve meant nobody ever saw it, is that right?” he clarified flirtatiously, nodding along with Hadrian when he did it in response._

_Hadrian let a small smile brighten his features and spoke directly to Alexander’s mismatched eyes, reminding himself to ask about that at a later time. “And as we grew older, we surpassed merely holding emotion inside our hearts, eventually achieving not feeling anything at all.”_

_“Ahh…except your ferocious passion for Rome,” Alexander mentioned, a tiny smirk taking over his face as well._

_“That’s different. Romans only love Rome, you have to know the song by now,” Hadrian sighed, chuckling at himself for the way he was encouraged to live his life as a lowly human. “I didn’t so much as shed a single tear when my Mother and Father died. Any sadness I could have had festered into instant hatred. Even as a human I was heartless and cold…and now…” he trailed, shuddering from the truth of his monstrous character._

_“Then I’ll give you mine,” Alexander announced without giving it a thought, crossing the floor and straddling Hadrian’s hips before either could utter a squeak of protest. He threw his arms around the Roman’s neck and lowered his face to be at direct eye level, and still neither could explain what was happening._

_“What,” Harry said monotonously after too many moments of unanswered deeds._

_“My heart,” Alexander specified, tucking a strand of Hadrian’s hair behind his ear and running a daring knuckle down his sculpted cheek. “It doesn’t always work. I can’t promise an efficiency we both know doesn’t exist, but you can have it,” he pledged, grinning when Hadrian’s eyes lit up with wonderment._

_“Why are you saying these things?” he inquired seriously, still guarded from any vulnerability that could consequently end him._

_“Stay with me,” Alexander requested in lieu of a response, not even giving the Roman a mere second of consideration before deepening his offer. “Stay with me forever. You may not remember what it’s like, but I will teach you how to feel,” he promised, holding his hands to either side of Hadrian’s surprised face to make him reply whether he wanted to or not._

_Several minutes dragged on in heavy silence, both vampires looking back and forth from their eyes to their lips, equally aware of the chemistry and pull they had sparkling between them._

_Hadrian was on the road to forming a response when Alexander closed down construction to plant a kiss on his lips instead. Hadrian instantly melted into their kiss and snaked his arms around the vampire’s back, soaking up the sensation of being as rough as he wanted without breaking any bones. He sought and attracted sexual action with humans daily, but never in his many centuries had he been free to use his full force in a heat of passion with another creature…and how befitting of it to be Alexander the Great._

_Who, after an uncountable amount of addictive minutes, broke the kiss and moved his mouth to Hadrian’s ear instead, whispering into it between numerous kisses to his temporarily warmed skin. “Don’t answer that yet.”_

_Hadrian still couldn’t conjure any contributions to this turn of events, and once again when he tried anyway, Alexander put a gentle finger to his lips to hush him. He reached another hand to drag the vase of blood to sit right next to them, circling his finger around the top in the most seductive way that could ever be done._

_“Have you ever drunk from a live vampire while they are simultaneously taking from you?” Alexander asked, a subtle moan traveling across his words._

_“I…no,” Hadrian said truthfully, never having gotten anywhere near his maker’s neck. “You’re the third immortal I’ve ever even met.”_

_Alexander listened to his reply and bit his lip in anticipation, messily pouring two full goblets and pushing one into Hadrian’s hand until he took it. He brought his own to his lips while lifting Hadrian’s wrist to mimic the action, smiling into his cup when the Roman accepted and downed it in one go. Alexander on the other hand took his sweet time, craning his neck back to get every last drop before disposing of the goblet in whichever direction it happened to fly. “Ouroboros,” he said simply, tangling his fingers in Hadrian’s hair and chuckling when the vampire’s eyebrows furrowed above his blissfully closed eyes._

_“What?” Hadrian asked, opening his eyes to focus on the discussion because apparently he was missing things._

_“A snake biting its own tail. A never-ending cycle of giving and taking. Show me your fangs,” he ordered, groaning deviously when Hadrian let them drop after likely repressing them for the entire lap-sitting he’d received._

_“You’re so beautiful, Alexander—”_

_“Hush,” the eldest interrupted, guiding Hadrian’s face to his neck and giving him the most opportune angle right at the junction of his upper shoulder. “Bite me.”_

_Hadrian shifted his eyes to meet Alexander’s before he did anything, imploring wordlessly that this was truly what the vampire wanted, but he only got a look of impatient frustration in return, so all bets were off. He slapped a hand down on Alexander’s shoulder to keep him steady even if he wasn’t moving, and dove in teeth first, digging into the soft skin at the same instant his own skin was pierced._

_Both sinfully moaned at the identical sensation they were reciprocating to each other, and held one another closer than they thought possible, sucking in their refreshingly warm blood like they were starved animals—they kind of were._

_Among the amazing physical pleasure the experience brought, within it additionally laid a fierce mental connection, a feeling of bonding, and both were overtaken by waves of affection and adoration that neither could have predicted._

_While Hadrian was contemplating these fresh emotions he couldn’t recall ever having, Alexander snuck a hand down between them and needily palmed at his crotch, and that was when Hadrian had to detach from his neck. “Zeus,” he growled, caving his spine inward to move toward and away from the maddening ecstasy of sexual contact with someone of his stamina and vigor. It almost felt too good, and he didn’t know how to handle anything stronger than that—but he would try. “Let me inside you,” he rasped, laughing with weightless joy when Alexander immediately yanked the Roman down by the tunic until they crashed to the floor with Alexander trapped in the middle._

_“Take me,” he pleaded to Hadrian, aching for the kind of sex that only they could give to each other, happily letting every article of clothing he had be torn by the eager Roman’s claws. “Make me feel real warmth again.”_

_When all the steps had been taken, with only a physical connection left to be made, Hadrian paused; reverently holding Alexander’s face and trailing his fingers down every inch of it, giving him sweet and soft kisses every couple of blinks. “I’ll stay,” he accepted with a loving whisper, Alexander’s instant cry of elation unfairly contagious between them._

_“Forever?” Alexander asked with a cute and hopeful smile, one which quickly evolved to a grin when Hadrian’s face said everything for him…but may the Gods bless the Roman for saying it anyway._

_“Forever.”_

 

~~~

 

“Fucking _shit, why_?!” Harry roared as he woke, seething with anger and a feeling of undeserved suffering, cursing everything and everyone for his constant stream of nightmares, and overflowing with the need to get out of the fucking mansion.

He checked the watch he never wore on his side table and found it was ten at night, which meant Zayn would be arriving in roughly an hour, and Harry fought to accept the kidnapping not occurring this very moment. He dressed for the best in tight leather pants that were black as charcoal, and cold like it too. He found himself debating the choice for top, ultimately landing on a snug-fitting and helplessly beaten medieval shirt, fluffing up the frills at the cuffs and overlaying it with a simple black blazer.

He tied his hair into a much higher ponytail than he had the last time he’d fucked with it, and slipped his already socked feet (he’s lazy, okay?) into sleek black ankle boots. He then sauntered to his infamous side table to don every royal and otherwise importantly superior rings in his possession onto his fingers, closing both hands into fists to test out his mobility.

He decided to take some off because the number was a bit impractical, and he moved a specific one to his right middle finger, admiring its beauty and significance in the darkness. It was his darling Joan of Arc’s heirloom ring, and was unfortunately the only thing he’d been able to salvage from the gruesome leftovers of the English stake she met her end upon. Joan had been a close and cherished companion to him and Alexander while they fought for France together, and he hoped that she wouldn’t mind him wearing her ring for her since he wasn’t able to save her from execution. Had to keep her in his life somehow.

He added a ridiculously expensive and flashy necklace to the finished product, and artfully situated the loose strands of hair to hang down and frame his face. His hand automatically caressed the soft rag around his wrist, and he made the decision to leave it here in his room. He was hours away from embarking to a vampire gathering, and he didn’t need anyone memorizing his Louis’ scent without his permission. Not that the boy was necessarily his…but his scent sure as fuck was.

He untied the air refresher cuff and folded it neatly, pushing it under his pillow to come back to at sunrise before bed. He stood to his full height and gave himself a quick once over to see if he missed anything crucial in his getup. Harry didn’t have an immediate mirror to look into, but he was pretty confident he could make the President of this country drop to his knees before him. Not that he would ever want Richard Nixon anywhere near his pelvis. 

He stomped up the stairs to emerge from the trap door, and called for Martin the second he whacked it over his head. “Yes, Master?” he heard echo from the mansion as he returned the secret door to its rightful closed position. He yawned his way down the hall en route to the kitchen, fully expecting Martin to already be standing in it by the time he got there.

He was right. “Good morning, Marty,” he greeted tiredly, falling down in a chair and stretching his arms out on the table’s gleaming surface. “You’ve been busy,” he noted, taking in the sparkle and shine that everything in the room seemed to have.

“You were asleep, and the manor was dusty,” Martin explained, unlocking the refrigerator and lighting the gas stove at the same time.

“Thank you,” Harry said genuinely, licking his lips as he watched the blood pour down from the bag into the kettle, always enamoured by the satisfyingly thick texture the liquid so beautifully broadcasted.

Both vampires’ peace was shattered by the deafening crack of the mansion’s doors being roughly slammed opened, and their heads snapped toward the designated area. “Nosferatu!” a voice boomed directly afterward, spurring an eye roll from both Harry and his usually unopinionated butler.

“You didn’t even call,” Harry grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut when the young vampire boldly materialized in the archway. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he demanded, peeking through the gaps in his fingers on the hand he’d whipped up to shield Zayn’s annoying brightness from his vulnerable retinas.

“What? Oh, sorry,” Zayn said, stepping further into the kitchen so that the hall chandelier didn’t reflect off him so dramatically.

Without the extravagant light shining around and emulating him as if he were a God, Harry could get a good look at the culprit...and he was not happy. “What… _is_ that,” he repeated with distaste for his friend’s stupid costume, not budging an inch from his stance when Zayn gasped in offense.

“It’s the 1970’s, Harry. Fashion is all about sequins, sparkle, and glamour, and you’d _know_ that if you weren’t such an unsociable hermit,” he sassed, jutting his neck out and holding hard to his flickering pride.

“That’s fashion,” Harry judged harshly in disbelief, scoffing at the mere notion that this glimmering look had any attractive substance. “You call that a suit? You look like a treasure chest filled with jewels in the sunlight.”

Zayn’s eyes went wide and he clapped his hands together, holding them together over his chest and sniffling to complete his fake performance of touched emotions. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he wailed in a pitch that could probably break the sound barrier, diving forward to envelop the ancient elder in his arms.

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry said darkly, accepting the glass of blood that Martin had finally finished preparing for him.

“I wasn’t, I swear. Can I have some?” Zayn asked greedily, always entitled to anything that was in front of him.

“You need to work on your presumptuous disrespect,” Harry scolded, pushing his half-drunk cup to Zayn instead of awarding him with a full one. “Martin,” he said pointedly, getting a fresh cup before he had to ask.

Zayn whined but took what was offered, knowing he would go nuts at the bar anyway. “Are you ready, or…” he asked carefully, trying to make it clear he was willingly on Harry’s time.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, having been more than ready from the moment his dream woke him up. “Martin, the night is yours. Feel free to roam any place you wish to go, just lock everything up when you leave, except for the front door and bathroom,” Harry instructed, double checking he had his money even though he knew he wouldn’t need it.

“Of course, Master. Have a good—”

“Oh, don’t lock the music room,” Harry added for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, puzzling all three vampires in the kitchen.

“The music room, Master Harry? Are you quite sure?” he reiterated just to be positive, raising his eyebrows when Harry nodded his head.

“Yes, I just have this feeling…anyway, be back by sunrise,” he finalized, grabbing Zayn by the elbow and leading him outside to the immature hospital worker’s impressively luxurious car.

“Yes, Master,” Martin said, trailing off with each syllable because the pair were out the door before he could actually get a word in. _The music room…his favourite room…how odd,_ he thought quizzically, setting about locking all doors not designated to be left untouched. In his experience, when Harry has a mysterious hunch about something, there was always a reason that would surface because of it—and surely this wouldn’t be any different.

With that in mind, he left the mansion and closed the front doors behind him, sticking his hands in his pockets as he shivered from the welcomed chilly air. He could go anywhere he wanted, and he had all night. He only hoped they wouldn’t return at sunrise to a stolen piano and a broken harp—as if anyone would try to steal a piano…

 _No,_ he confirmed with a newfound realization, _...but Louis might play it._

 

\---

 

“Are we fucking there yet, by the _Gods_ , I could get to France faster than this,” Harry whined, busying himself by rummaging through Zayn’s glovebox.

“It’s forty-five minutes away by car, but I like driving, shut up with your bitching,” Zayn bit back, reaching over and snatching up his important paperwork that Harry was close to ripping apart in boredom.

“Cars are stupid inventions,” Harry pressed, staring out the window and finding precarious peace with the stars.

“They aren’t for humans,” Zayn muttered, turning on the radio only to have it turned right back off by Harry.

“No 70’s music, please,” he begged without even hearing two seconds of whatever song it would have played. Don’t get him wrong. He’s _loves_ 70’s music. But he also loves his pride.

“You’re impossible,” Zayn chuckled, settling for the quiet that Harry seemed to want so bad.

 

\---

 

It was a rough car ride indeed, but eventually they pulled into the parking lot of the Sharp Tongue, and Zayn couldn’t be happier that he wouldn’t be stuck in a car with the Roman anymore.

“About fucking time,” Harry griped, leaping out of the car and remembering where they were, consequently realizing he wasn’t any happier to have arrived.

“Come on, lighten up. We’ll just get some drinks, then we’ll go downstairs,” Zayn urged, beckoning the stubborn vampire to follow him inside.

Harry groaned and crossed his arms over his chest, making his feet walk to the Pakistani chatterbox before he changed his mind on the whole thing. They cut the entire line and approached the couch cushion doors, standing before the bouncers and letting them study the two beings standing before them. Most of the vampires in the line were barely over a century old, and the humans of course were utter children. A dump like this didn’t get very much royalty in and out of it, and the two guards were shocked to say the least.

“Right this way, My Lord,” they said reverently with a deep bow to Harry, promptly opening the doors for him in an almost fearful way.

Harry shoved his way past the vampire employees, knowing full well that they wouldn’t do shit to challenge him. To add to his growing ego trip, once he billowed into the actual club, every vampire in sight stopped what they were doing to stare in awe at their superior elder.

The humans didn’t understand at first because they couldn’t sense Harry’s age like his fellow bloodsuckers could, but it only took them a few moments to join in the worship, and pretty soon every single being in the building was bending in half to bow to him. “Gross,” he muttered under his breath, heading straight for the bar before anyone could offer themselves to him.

Zayn had been having a field day with the similar looks he got for being associated with Harry, and he was glad everyone here would always remember the kind of company he kept—it would do him great services in his future visits. He strutted calmly to the bar and took a seat beside Harry, careful not to annoy him now that they were in public because that could tarnish his reputation.

The thumping and obnoxious music hadn’t stopped, but the overall volume of the joint had noticeably decreased, considering all the conversation had suddenly evaporated into thin air. In the place of loud bantering was now hushed whispers as humans and vampires alike frantically asked around to see if anyone knew who Harry was.

Nobody seemed to have any idea who they were graced with, and that was ideal for Harry. He didn’t need anyone knowing his identity if he didn’t intentionally give it out. The club’s immortal customers could obviously discern his era of origin, but that didn’t mean they knew anything substantial about his character, and Harry would very much like to keep it that way.

After the overkilled length of awkward silence, Harry turned in his stool to stare the room down; when he caught sight of them still bowing like subservient sheep, he had to speak out to relieve the insanely thick tension. “As you were,” he snapped in exasperation, watching with amusement as they all broke free of their frozen positions and scrambled around to act decently normal.

“That was amazing,” Zayn noted proudly, impatient to get to Harry’s age so he could control a room of his kin like that. Harry didn’t seem to give a shit however, and turned back to the bar to obtain his vices, leaving Zayn to spiral down into an even stronger jealous rampage. To be revered in a room of vampires was one thing, but to do it thoughtlessly and be at a point where you don’t even care? Yes, please.

“Two French, please,” Harry ordered to the starstruck bartender, taking a large and slow breath when it took a few moments to shake the server vampire out of his amazed gandering.

“Here you are, My Superior,” the bartender reverently sung, pushing the shot glasses across the counter like they were precious sacrificial items he was offering to a Mayan God.

“Mm,” Harry grunted neutrally, taking deep inhales of the drinks before downing them both, letting himself have a sigh of contentment at finally getting France back into his veins.

“I’ve never seen you enjoy blood that much,” Zayn noted, ordering the same thing because he might as well.

“American blood is a little fucked up. I have no idea how to explain it. There’s just something wrong with it,” Harry said, watching closely to witness Zayn’s likely intense reaction after he drank the shots.

Zayn took a sip and reared his head back in surprise, savouring the taste as long as he could before he wouldn’t be able to resist swallowing anymore. Harry watched from the side with a bemused expression on his face, leaning back and ordering an ‘Italian’ next.

“God, that was good,” Zayn moaned, actively controlling his breathing as a foreign euphoria took over his entire persona.

Harry chuckled and turned around in the booth to watch the club instead of the alcohol and blood, resting his elbows up behind him and scoping the room for…he didn’t know what, exactly.

“You ready to go downstairs?” Zayn asked as he smashed his shot glass back down on the bar, already grabbing his jacket from the stool because his mind was made up.

“What’s downstairs these days?” Harry wondered aloud, gracefully sliding off the barstool in a way that made him appear weightless.  

“You’ll see,” Zayn said mysteriously, spinning where he stood and marching off to the back, rightfully expecting Harry to follow.

Harry was a generally curious vampire, so he walked behind his irritating friend, looking down his nose at everyone that stared directly into his eyes and happily watching them convulse under the pressure. Maybe coming out tonight will turn out to be good for him. Everyone needs a confidence boost every once in awhile.

 

~~~

 

Louis woke up when his door was busted open, flailing to get off the bed and visually channeling popcorn hopping around in a frying pan.

“BOY!” his Father roared, flicking on his light switch and washing the room in a bright yellow glow. “Where were you?” he further demanded, scratching at his chest and actually waiting for an answer before charging for once.

“With Niall,” Louis admitted, instantly regretting dragging his best friend into this mess.

“Niall? That blonde faggot?” Troy sneered, not even having the common decency to cover his mouth for the loud belch that shot out of it.  

“He’s not a faggot, Dad, only I am,” Louis sighed, standing like a deer in headlights because his Father hadn’t made any violent moves yet, and Louis didn’t trust that at all.

“I want you out of this house,” Troy announced, chilling Louis to the bone with every syllable. Slapping him harder than that wide palm ever could. His Father wants him to leave?

“What? Where the hell am I supposed to go?” Louis cried, his mind suddenly reeling with the terrifying prospect of being homeless and starving.

“Watch your language, you Godless fairy! And I don’t care where you fucking go. Anywhere but here. You don’t respect me, you don’t do anything but complain, you’re worthless, you’re a faggot, and you’re going to hell. You’re not my son, and I hate you for taking him away from me. Get out!” Troy bellowed, shoving Louis deeper down into a whirlwind of fear and desperation.

“Dad—”

“Out!” Troy intercepted, stalking forward and backing up when Louis recoiled in trepidation. If Troy hadn’t beaten the gay out of him yet, then there was no need to try it now—it obviously hadn’t worked.

After several moments frozen in time, Troy had enough. He scooped up the nearest objects he could reach and hurled them at Louis one by one to hurry the process along.

“Ow, fuck, Dad! Okay! Would you stop? I’ll leave!” Louis yelled, miraculously dodging a snowglobe to the head.

“Get the fuck out! _Now_ , Louis! I’ve dealt with enough of your shit for a lifetime, I never want to see your infuriating face again. You disgust me, and you always have. Don’t ever come back,” the man growled, spinning around and roughly pushing Stacey out of his way as he stomped down the hall to slam his bedroom door.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Louis whined once they were alone, still standing in his underwear atop the impressively large mess Troy had created.

“It’s all he’s been talking about for weeks, baby. I kept convincing him to let you stay, but you kept leaving and coming home late, and he just got more and more angry with you. He hasn’t even had that much to drink tonight, I don’t know what to do,” she admitted with a wavering tone, walking to Louis’ closet to fetch his unused suitcase on the top shelf. “But you should leave. It’s what I want for you, baby. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” he pressed without a second’s delay, tossing the suitcase she presented him with on the bed and taking her frail figure into his arms. “Momma, you need to leave too,” he begged, distraught he couldn’t do any more to help her. He’d already fucked up beyond repair, and now his Mother was going to pay the full price for his misjudgment, how was he expected to carry that weight?

“It’s okay, sweetie. Momma’s got a plan,” she whispered with a small wink, intriguing her precious son from the confession, but they obviously couldn’t talk about it right now. “Do you have somewhere to go?” she asked in concern, her heart breaking with the concept of her sweetie pie roaming around alleyways for food.

Louis thought about Niall’s house, but he doubted his parents would let him stay there indefinitely, even under the conditions of his being there. They were good people, but they were also very private, and Louis wouldn’t ever want to lose the salvation he experienced when he occasionally went there to escape. He wouldn’t ever want to tarnish his welcome—he needed Niall’s house for emergencies.

“Hunny?” Stacey asked again, her worry increasing the longer Louis went without responding.

Niall out of the picture left only one place in Louis’ life he could run to—but that was a monster of its own. He still hadn’t met the owner, he still didn’t know if he was human, he still didn’t know what would happen to him if they ran into each other, but…that mansion was all he had left. “Yeah,” he said quietly, deciding if it had to come to this, he would take the shot in the dark and see where it led him.

“Are you sure?” she pressed, wary of his hesitation.

“No, I’m sure. I have somewhere to go,” he said in a way that he would _definitely_ question if the positions were switched, but luckily his Mother didn’t hound him for specifics under the circumstances. “Well…” he sighed forlornly, looking her up and down like it might be the last time he gets to. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“It’s not forever, baby doll,” she cooed supportively, sitting them both down on his mattress and leaning in so they could have an unheard conversation. “I know you’re already eighteen, but I was…I think I might have a plan. To get out of here. Just a little bit longer, sweetie, and then maybe when I’m free, we can be together again. Just the two of us, how’s that sound?” she asked, smiling through her tears.

“I think it sounds great, Mom, but are you even sure it’s gonna work?” he challenged, forcing himself to be the unwanted realist in the situation.

“I’m gonna try,” she whispered passionately, grabbing Louis’ face and kissing him on the forehead, not bothering to wipe off the smudged lipstick she’d accidentally fallen asleep in. “I’ll go get your shower things,” she said, flitting down the hallway to get his shampoo and conditioner, razor, and the body wash that he likes that’s always weirdly hard to find in the stores.

“If I land somewhere permanent—” Louis began, quickly packing up all his room things while she scoured the bathroom so Troy wouldn’t have an excuse to come back in the room and “finish the job” when they both took too long.

Stacey collected everything at the speed of light and dumped her findings into Louis’ quickly filling case.

“—I’m gonna find a way to give you my number, and you have to promise me that you’ll call if something really bad happens,” he said sternly, pelting her with a dark look when she only fidgeted in lieu of answering. “At least call the police,” he added as an alternative, kneeling down and placing his hands on her bony knees. “Please.”

“I will, baby. I promise,” she conceded, donning a fresh mask of sadness on her face as Louis continued to pack. “He slashed your bike tires,” she informed with a heavy heart, remembering that it was a pretty important detail to inform him of.

“Shit, really?” he whined, dropping his arms to his sides and tightening his grip on the shirts in his fists in anger. “Fine,” he grumbled, forgetting about the inconvenience and checking his room for anything crucial he might have missed.

“What about this?” Stacey asked, holding up the teddy bear she’d gotten for him as a child, gently extending it out to him in the hopes that he would accept the little guy.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile, fitting the bear on top of the textbooks in his backpack. How the fuck he would get to school every day was the Eighth Wonder of the World, but he would find a way. He had to. “Should I use the front door, or should I just jump out the window?” he asked seriously, clueless to the correct banishment protocol.

“Whichever feels right,” she guessed, slowly standing and thumbing Louis’ cheek with her weathered hand. “I have to go back in there,” she said, giving one last long hug and breaking it off with the happiest smile she could muster. “You always deserved better than this…I’ll see you on the other side,” she finished, running out of the room before her legs would officially prohibit her from moving.

Louis stared at the doorway for a long time, doing an award-worthy job of burying his emotions to face his imminent life change. He could break down later. He dressed himself, because he still hadn’t done that yet, in the warmest clothes he could to fight the frigid walk to the mansion. He shrugged his backpack up around his shoulders and raised the handle of his suitcase, heaving his shoulders with a quick sigh and taking the first step to the front door.

He met no interruptions on the way out, and he couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than the iconic yelling. Once the front door was in view, he actually couldn’t wait to get out of it, and he jogged the rest of the way outside, shutting it and the all the horrible shit it concealed behind him for good.

He walked down the sidewalk pathway to the street and looked both ways, shivering in the eerily quiet air and setting off to his favourite destination. He would reluctantly accept getting kicked out of the mansion if it came to that, but there were some things he wanted to know first. Besides, nothing ever gets done if nothing is tried—and Louis would do a lot more than try.

 _Please Harry,_ Louis thought to the giant question mark in his unbelievably fictitious life, praying to the universe that the impossible man would take him in like an undeniable stray kitten. _Please help me. I’ll never read your diaries again._

 

~~~

 

Harry had only been in the old V.I.P area for thirty minutes, but he was already bored with it. It was a similar system to fifty years ago when the establishment was nothing more than a hushed rumour, known only to those who already knew about it. A seamlessly well-kept secret that lied beneath the floors of an old bakery owned by a human ally family in the early 19Endless’s.

Since then, the basement crew had evidently taken over the cover business and turned the entire building into a raving dance club, but the downstairs area had retained its aristocratically exclusive patronage. Among all customers here, Harry was still the eldest. By far.

In essence though, his location served as a playroom for older, more matured vampires to have their entitled taste of fang virgins that were especially picked out and put on display for the immortals’ lustful desires.

A fang virgin if it wasn’t painfully obvious was a human who had never been bitten by a vampire, and their skin was a smooth and uncharted canvas for a pair of lucky fangs to mar for the first time, but Harry wasn’t interested. Even though these innocent and skittish beauties were a drastic improvement from the sluts upstairs, they didn’t smell how Harry wanted them to.

Harry’s scoping eyes landed on a pair of innocently gorgeous brown-haired boys, and his gaze instantly caught their clueless attention. They wiggled nervously under his penetrating stare and tiptoed over to him, standing before the couch with their heads lowered and to the side to offer themselves because that’s what they were told to do.

Harry laughed out loud at their oblivious subservience and ran a tired hand down the shorter one’s thigh. “Come here, loves,” he said sweetly, all in all admiring their gentility and respect.

The boys walked even closer until they were in full touching distance, and Harry held his hand out to receive one of theirs, grinning when the same boy took charge and rested his shaky palm in Harry’s. “You shouldn't bare your necks for just anyone, kittens. That's how you die,” he scolded, rubbing small circles into the back of the boy’s hand with his thumb.

“We were told you aren't just anyone,” the boy timidly replied, blinking his big doe eyes at Harry in wonderment.

“That doesn't mean you won't die,” Harry taunted, a touch of his old predatory self unexpectedly finding its way to the surface. Unbitten necks were impressively hard to ignore. He shook himself off that path and regained control, trying again to make the humans see some reason. “Whomever told you that wasn't wrong, but it makes me the most dangerous thing here. I could kill you, and no one would do a thing,” he warned, giving them time to reevaluate their complacency.

“We will belong to you if you want to take us,” the second boy pledged to the furious nodding of the first one, causing Harry to reach out and take ahold of his hand too. “You can do whatever you want.”

It was a gravely tempting offer, but about four centuries too late. Harry pulled both hands into his chest and flipped their wrists up to the ceiling, bending down to brush his lips against each one. He ran his nose up and down their forearms, happily inhaling the sweet scent of their untaken blood and sighing from the pleasantly enticing aroma. “Not today, my darlings,” he whispered onto their smooth skin, letting them go and waving them off with a final polite smile.

They nodded and scurried off back to their original spots, blatantly disappointed that the nicest and most beautiful man here had to be the one to reject them, but they had no right to push their selfish agendas.

“Zayn, I’m terribly tired of this already,” Harry informed, glancing over at his friend just as he dove into a girl’s neck and gave her the best high of her life. “Honestly,” Harry muttered with scorn, moving to encroach on their space and make his position perfectly clear to the distracted vampire. “I’m going home,” he announced plainly, waiting for Zayn to detach from the trembling girl and put in his two cents as they say.

“You didn’t take those two boys? Nevermind, it’s no matter, but I can’t go,” Zayn informed, caressing the girl’s back in sympathy as he made her wait for her gratification.  

“I’m not asking you to come with me. I’m just telling you I’m leaving,” he grumbled, gesturing for Zayn to get back to his virgin. “Have a good night, thanks for making me get out. Oh, and don’t come over later,” he added firmly, already on his way to the upstairs clusterfuck. He stopped once more to run his knuckles down the virgin boys’ cheeks while he reveled in their pleased flinches, and then he was officially done with the place.

He walked back through the main floor under the fascinated scrutiny of his random brothers and sisters, never once shifting his eyes from straightforward, and pushed through the two bouncers to finally get some wide space around him. Once granted with the outside world, he rushed off with inhuman speed, whooshing the hair of the outside line waiters.

He would make it home in no time traveling like this, and he couldn’t tell you why, but he had this insistent suspicion that he would find Louis there. He knew it was unlikely given the boy’s recent abstinence from exploring his mansion, but maybe Louis was over it now.

If Louis wasn’t at his house when he got back, Harry decided he was going to look for him. Enough ransacking the town streets, and he would eventually find the scent’s location, and Louis may or may not rue the day he stepped foot in Harry’s house, but there was no hint of sympathy from Harry’s end. That’s what the human gets for flinging blood rags around in an ancient vampire’s bathroom like he owned the place—he gets the actual owner’s everlasting bloodlust.

 

\---

 

It didn’t take long for Harry to materialize on the dirt road to his mansion, seemingly appearing out of thin air because he could always enjoy a peaceful stroll through the trees. At a human’s speed, he walked across the path, knocking his neck back and watching the stars as he went. The moon was bright and full, and there wasn’t a single cloud to conceal the full picture, making the sky appear as though someone had sprinkled glitter across the expanse of it.

He was happy that he could finally smell Louis again, and he quickened his pace to return to his treasured wristrag. As he neared his house though, he began to realize that the scent was very much stronger than the simple rag he had in his basement would give off from its small location. That could only mean one thing.

Harry zipped the rest of the distance like he was a bullet shot from a gun, seamlessly halting right outside his front doors, registering the sounds of random piano keys being tapped from within. _I knew it,_ he mentally cheered, opening the left door and closing it behind him so fast the old hinges didn’t stand a chance at creaking. He continued his unnoticeable steps to the music room, ears perking with interest at just what Louis was trying to do.

The singular little notes being played sounded like a child testing the instrument out for the fun of it, and the little melody repeated itself a fair amount of times. However, Louis took it up a notch when he added his left hand into the mixture, and the piano doodling began to morph into something more complex that sounded suspiciously familiar…but he couldn’t be sure yet.

Harry slunk down the length of the wall and stopped just before the open door, inching his head around like an old tortoise to finally get his first view of a conscious Louis. The grand piano was placed at a diagonal angle away from the doorway, so Harry could see Louis’ back and a portion of his side, but he could not see his face—which was fine, because he did not want to interrupt this.

His overpowering scent was just as Harry had remembered, and it had a faint soapy tinge to it, and when he leaned further into the room, he saw the slightly damp hair of the human. So he’d apparently used the shower at some point in the night. Harry was a bit put off that the angel had been naked in his house without him, but the vampire could pick his battles.

Harry would almost assume that Louis was in a sort of trance; his eyes were closed and his upper body was bending and swaying in the notorious style of a true musician. This was about to be a promising performance, and if Harry were a human, now would be when he would grab the popcorn.

Almost immediately after all of these thoughts had flown by in Harry’s mind, Louis’ pace increased, and the pieces started to fall into place. This was without a doubt a rendition of his very own composition, _Year Endless_ , and Harry’s mouth dropped open when he heard what was being done with it.

This was exactly how Alexander would play.

Over the centuries they had together, Harry would try over and over again to write masterful music, but the talented Alexander would never cease to take his simple concepts and transform them into fulfilled works of art without even trying. Alexander was the true musician out of the two of them. Harry’s only had a very long time to practice, and it wasn’t always natural, but Alexander…

Whatever Louis was doing to his song was exactly what Alexander would have done, and if Harry closed his eyes, it was amazingly easy to imagine it was him. It was almost believable that he could open his eyes and see his love sitting on that stool instead of Louis, but for some reason, even when Harry did open them to be proven wrong, it didn’t disappoint him. It wasn’t a letdown.

Louis’ playing was precise and careful, but daring and unapologetic, and Harry hung on every single note, being a happy witness to the boy’s unchallengeable flow; the likes of which Harry could never quite get to himself. The rendition continued to blossom, each new original invention of Louis’ sending sparks to Harry’s still beating heart, and he stared on with wide eyes and blank thoughts, content to take in the continuous beauty of the moment.

If studied carefully enough, Louis actually had quite a few physical elements shared with Alexander. Their hands seemed to have the same bone structure to them, and his neck was vaguely similar in the way that it connected to his chin…but it was typical for Harry to look for such things. This was not Alexander, and nobody really ever would be, and he had to be okay with that.

The song was reaching its crescendo, and Harry dared to step all the way into the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed and one ankle over the other, anxious to finally meet the boy of his recent daily thoughts. Louis however did not notice his presence in the slightest, far too taken with his passionate playing, and that was more than acceptable.

 

~~~

 

Louis slammed his fingers down on the last keys of the song, but once again, he didn’t even remember playing its entirety. He recalled beginning the song, but as soon as he’d really started going, it’s almost like he went somewhere else…like someone else had played it for him.

He tried to think back to what he’d just done, but it was fuzzy, and he was frustrated in the face of it. If he’s really supposed to rip this out in front of the whole school, why can’t he even pay a speck of attention to what he was doing? As soon as the keys faded out from the prolonged sustain pedal, another sound took its place, launching Louis’ every nerve into overdrive while his heartbeat shifted to evenly match the sound resonating behind him—a maddeningly slow and thumping applause.

Louis whipped around to face his slightly smirking praiser, who ended his leisurely clapping upon discovery, and Louis screeched in the back of the throat when he figured it all out in his head. It was him. It was Harry. And he was _beautiful_.

“Uhh, shit, fuck, I’m sorry! I! Uh, shit,” he stammered as he violently ‘fixed’ the music sheets he hadn’t even been touching, sending the papers to scatter themselves on the ground because he was a clumsy bitch. “Damnit!” he cursed, making more squeaks and whines until he finally stopped to accept his inevitable fate.

In lieu of slamming himself into the ground to collect the dropped sheets, he leapt to his feet and bored his eyes into the seraphic creature in the doorway. Harry, if this was indeed Harry, had closed his eyes the instant theirs had met, and he was pinching the bridge of his nose in what looked like exasperation, and Louis couldn’t even begin to explain himself.

The God was wearing the sexiest clothing that’s ever been put on a body before, and his long hair was high up on his head in a feminine ponytail, and the boots, and the frame, and the face, and the… _Am I in heaven?_ Louis wondered reasonably, losing his goddamn mind in the long-awaited presence of the Ancient Roman wonderboy.

After an excess of deafeningly silent seconds, Harry apparently decided to try again, and he opened his bright green eyes to stare Louis down, and that’s when everything got weird. Harry’s facial expression immediately shifted from frustrated to crushingly emotional, and he promptly came after Louis with commanding purpose, closing all distance between them and damn near smashing their bodies together with the mind-numbing proximity.

Without giving Louis the merciful opportunity to recover from the closeness, Harry then slapped two heavily ringed hands on either of Louis’ face and stared deeply, almost maniacally, into his eyes, setting up the rest of Louis’ eventful life with a single hopeful word:

“...Alexander?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O SHIT, BITCH. What? whuuuuuuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhut?


	7. One Mystery Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a full-out kidney attack. This is day 3. I'm gonna really try to get all of these out on time. But I may have to switch to mornings cuz that's when I have a short break from the pain.

“What?” Louis deadpanned as Harry squished and prodded at his face in fascination. “My name is Louis,” he muffled through fish lips as his cheeks were pushed together, squeaking when Harry roughly spun him around in a circle.

“Alexander,” Harry repeated in a whisper, completely out of breath as he looked the impossible creature in his music room up and down, caressing everything he could get to and savouring the feeling as he did it.

“It’s _Louis_ ,” the affronted Louis corrected, freezing in place when Harry’s eyes flew to his own like he was Medusa and Louis was now stone.

“Alex!” Harry argued, slapping at Louis’ face and ruffling his hair while he leaned in and inhaled his neck, brushing his lips against the smooth and warm skin.

“ _Ah_ , okay,” Louis protested in embarrassment, stepping away from Harry’s invasive studying regardless of the irritated huff he got from the assumed immortal being. “My name…is Louis,” he enunciated clearly, watching the gears turn in Harry’s scrambled head.

“Louis,” Harry said slowly, finally putting the puzzle together and cringing at his rather shameful first impression. He crept forward and held Louis under his chin, checking to verify the boy had identically coloured eyes. And he did. _Shit_. “You could be his twin,” Harry choked, beyond confounded at why Louis had to share his love’s exact likeness.

“I’m an only child,” Louis informed nervously, causing a short, monotonous laugh to rumble out of Harry’s mouth.

“Of course you are,” Harry agreed hopelessly, rapidly running out of things to say. Where would he even start?

“Can I live here?” Louis blurted out of the blue, aware that it was a terrible time to do this, but also considering it an important plot point to introduce.

“Excuse me?” Harry asked warily, regarding the human with vexed annoyance. The nerve of him was staggeringly courageous, but ignorant as all fuck.

“My Father kicked me out of my house, and I came here. I was hoping you’d let me stay. Though we have had some negative encounters, we just started off on the wrong foot,” he said confidently, swallowing the hints of bile from his nauseating anxiety back down his throat and holding out a hand. “I’m Louis,” he announced, still extending his hand with his heart inside of it.

Harry stared at the hand like it would bite him if it were touched, searching his mind for all the different excuses he could utilize to overrule the plea. There were so many reasons he should not allow this human to live under his roof, but his blaringly insistent desire to move him in right this instant was steadily getting louder and louder in his head, and he’d already known it would come to this.

But here’s the list of cons to look over before his final decision could be made:

One, they were not of the same species, and Louis was in danger of inevitably experiencing Harry’s rare but not unreasonable loss of control. Whether he would ultimately enjoy it or not, it certainly would not be a good experience to see a pair of fangs nearing your throat for those first few seconds.

Two, Louis had already snooped through a good number of revealing belongings that were surely working their way into his mind and guiding him to the right answer of the questions they initially imposed. In other words, Harry was probably already exposed, and logistically, he should just move to another country before Louis was able to prove all of his wild theories.

Three, was Harry really expected to look into the remarkably similar face of Alexander every night when their paths crossed until the human aged and died, leaving Harry alone once again with only a room of his stuff to cry in? Would he fall for this human and suffer a loss of love once more? Does he truly deserve that torment all over again?

“Harry,” he responded in spite of everything screaming at him to run, grasping the human’s hand and giving it a tentative squeeze.

“Styles?” Louis asked just to be sure, dreading _and_ hoping for a confirmation.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed in agreement, giving a slow nod of his head.

“Interesting,” Louis responded nervously, breaking their hand-holding—they’d never made it to the shaking stage—and backing up so he could breathe.

Harry pointedly refused to address the gigantic elephant in the room. If Louis knew, he knew, but Harry wasn’t about to prove all of his fears true on the first day. “Shall I show you to a room you could use?” he asked instead, happy that the question sparked gleeful light within Louis’ blue eyes.

“That’d be groovy,” Louis sighed in relief, following the owner out when he turned to lead the way.

They stopped first at the coffee table so Louis could grab his stuff, and Harry admittedly hadn’t even noticed any of it was there, considering he’d been understandably distracted by Louis’ piano playing. The boy only had one bag and a suitcase, but he didn’t appear put off at his small portion of belongings, so Harry didn’t comment on it.

Harry began the journey to the second floor and Louis took in a sharp breath at the prospect of climbing the stairs. He’d only ever explored the first floor’s attractions before, so this was a whole new experience to add to his adventurous list. Louis openly gawked at the long hallways that made up the second floor, but their journey came to a rather abrupt end.

The designated guest room turned out to be the first door on the left from the top stair, and Louis was ushered inside as Harry flipped the light on so he could take a look around. It was pitifully bare, with only a large bed, two side tables, a lamp, and a chest for clothes to look at, but it was more than enough for Louis’ tastes.

“Thank you,” Louis breathed in gratitude, immediately throwing his shit down and falling down on the hard bed. He furrowed his eyebrows when the bed almost propelled him right back up into a standing position. This was not necessarily ideal.

“Sorry about that bed’s condition. Nobody stays here, I couldn’t even tell you how old that thing is. I can get you a new one later if you find you require it,” he added sincerely, still trying to find the right things to say at a time like this. Does he give him a tour? And what, just expect Louis to act surprised when he’s shown rooms he’s already seen? “So…” he mumbled just to break the silence, his usually unbreakable confidence wavering on a tightrope when the adorable Louis looked to him expectantly. “I’ll be honest, I don’t really know what to say here,” he admitted with a forced gulp of his own pride.

“Yeah,” Louis instantly agreed, bravely patting the mattress next to him in the hopes that Harry would sit down at his level.

Harry squinted his eyes but relented, taking three long strides to sit beside Louis with a board-straight spine and a fixed gaze to the wall.

Louis was still working valiantly to prevent his desperately nagging boner from ruining an already perfectly awkward situation, but could you really blame him? Harry was dressed in _leather,_ and the style he wore his long, tree-bark-brown curly hair in was too high for some particular strands to handle, and they just hung down around his face and swayed in slow motion whenever he moved, and just…need he say more?

Well, he will.

Harry’s calculating eyes were stupidly green, and he smelled like the old books in his library—which doesn’t _seem_ like it would be pleasant—but _oh_ …it was. He was tall and scrawny like a giraffe, and deliciously pale in skin tone with just a hint of blush on his cheeks, and it just wasn’t fair at all for one person to have so much beauty to themselves.

His fingers were long and delicate, ideal for playing the piano _and_ strangling the life out of you, and his rings looked older than this building. His lips were full and in a constant state of just barely parted, giving them the appearance of permanently kissable, and Louis wished more than anything that he could. His jawline was sharper than all of Louis’ current pencils, and the cheekbones were quite formidable as well.

Everything that he had discovered in the mansion came flying to the front of his mind, but he would not start a conversation with “You’re immortal, aren’t you?,” so he needed a plan B.

“So you’ve been here a lot,” Harry broke, still not meeting Louis’ eyes out of fear that he would lose all sense and take him right where he sat.

“Yeah,” Louis admitted shyly, scratching at the back of his neck and unknowingly wafting its smell straight into Harry’s tempted nostrils. “I’m really sorry for barging in that first time, but I got chased through the woods and slipped down a cliff. I was too far away from my bike and I didn’t intend to come here, it’s just where I ended up.”

“Why did you keep coming back?” Harry asked, finally looking over and watching the human ponder his response out of the corner of his eye.

“This place is…really far out. Wildly fascinating. And I’m a very nosy person,” he explained, hoping that was good enough for the intimidating Harry.

“What kind of things did you nose into?” Harry inquired, holding in his laughter because he already knew damn well what Louis had discovered.

“Oh, not much,” Louis lied through his teeth, fully comprehending that they both saw right through him. “Couple things, you know,” he trailed, shifting the focus of the conversation before that certain elephant would be addressed. “Where have you been all this time?”

Harry chuckled at his persistence and faked a yawn, removing himself from the bed and by default, Louis too. “Around,” he replied vaguely, keeping his composure even with Louis’ affronted expression daring him to grin. “I’ll leave you to your nightly routine. I’ll have my butler Martin fetch some food for you to eat in the morning.”

 _Martin? The young boy Harry saved in the French Revolution? He’s his BUTLER?_ “You don’t have to do that. Unless of course you don’t want me eating your food,” Louis rushed to add, afraid to push Harry’s potentially fragile hospitable behavior.

Harry snorted and shook his head, rubbing a hand from his forehead down to his jaw in bemusement. _You don’t want to eat my food,_ he cackled in his head, crossing his arms again and leaning against the door jamb while Louis gawked at him. “It’s not that, I just ran out,” he lied obviously, content to just keep dropping subtle bombs until it all clicked in the human’s head. He was going to give him the choice to stay or not, and pretty soon they’d both find out what his tolerance levels to the supernatural were.

“Well then thank you. I kind of stole a bunch last time I stayed over. They’re still in my bag, actually,” he noted, shaking his backpack to broadcast the crunchy food bag sounds within.

“Perfectly alright with me,” Harry excused, sensing the conversation was coming to a close. “I’m sorry about your Father, and you’re welcome to—to stay here as long as you’d like,” he stuttered, catching himself before he said Louis was welcome to stay a few centuries or so.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Louis pledged, aware that his presence was likely a huge inconvenience to the impossible man. He’d guessed that Harry may be completely nocturnal, because nothing else made much sense, and he hoped he wouldn’t be too noisy during the day.

Harry just continued to gaze at him with those unreadable eyes of his, slowly backing up as he began to pull the door with him. “You already have,” he said mysteriously, finally closing the door to the room and jumping down to the first story to wait for Martin and warn him of their new addition.

 

~~~

 

Louis was exhausted from his walk here, and he could probably use the sleep, but if anyone actually expected him to, they were insane. He’d met Harry. He’d come face to face quite literally with the undying Harry Styles, and the man had invited him to stay indefinitely without killing him or otherwise damaging him in any way. Except for maybe his _heart_ , because Louis was two sweet smiles away from being hopelessly in love for the rest of his very endable life.

The person he’d been dreaming about for weeks had strutted up to him and slapped his warm hands on his face. Granted, he’d called him Alexander, but it was a step in the right direction. Now if only he could get Harry to touch his face and call him ‘Louis.’ That would undoubtedly make his life complete.

He forced himself into his pyjamas and grabbed Mr. Snuffles out of his backpack to cuddle up with. Yes, the teddy bear’s name is Mr. Snuffles. What else would it be to a five year old? He closed his eyes when he got under the covers, hoping there weren’t any bugs anywhere in this bed because he really didn’t feel like checking.

He ran his thoughts in a looped cycle of Harry until it lulled him into a dream-like state, falling over the edge to the resurrected feeling of those wonderful hands running up and down his body.

 

~~~

 

“Jesus, get in here,” Harry hissed at Martin, who was weakly crossing the grounds under the growing light of the sunrise. Whatever had taken him so long to return would be addressed later, but right now, Harry had to get him out of the bright rays or he’d be feeble and powerless for weeks.

“Sorry, Master,” he wheezed, making the last desperate steps to reach the porch.

Harry couldn’t wait any longer and he stepped right into the unforgiving torture of the sun, reaching his arm out for Martin to grab and get himself hauled inside. “Explain later, I have some…news,” he settled on, waiting until they were both in the living room and mostly recovered to get any more specific than that.

“Louis is here, isn’t he?” Martin guessed, although it was more on the side of irrefutable fact. This boy’s scent was strong.

“Yeah, and when I say here, I mean _here_ ,” Harry dodged, still in disbelief that Louis and him had even had their first conversing encounter.

“Nope. I’m not getting it,” Martin said dumbly, looking around the room and realizing they were atop the couch that Louis would be sleeping on if he were here at this hour.

“Yeah, exactly,” Harry agreed when Martin began to use his poor skills of deduction. “I’ll show you,” he offered, dragging his butler off the couch without a response.

They walked quietly up the stairs and a few paces down the hallway, Harry taking a deep breath before opening one of the doors to a guest room, revealing a sleeping Louis under the covers of the bed. Martin only glared at Harry in confusion, looking back and forth between the sleeping Louis and the guilty Harry. He got the point and walked back down the hallway, leaping over the landing and sauntering into the kitchen as he muttered on about how unsafe this was.

Harry postponed his talk with Martin and swept into the guest room for a quick gander at the beautiful human with the familiar features of Alexander slapped onto him. He sat down on the bed without causing a dip, keeping himself weightless and untraceable as he held his hand just above Louis’ cheek, desiring the warmth he’d lost about an hour ago when the Italian blood had worn off.

Louis shifted in his slumber as though he knew a presence was nearby, and Harry took his swift leave before the human could open his eyes and find a vampire in an unexplainable position, hovering inches above his body.

Harry then set off to the kitchen to at last get dramatically chewed out by a surely fuming Martin, and lo and behold:

“I cannot believe you would let such a thing happen, Harry! He’s a _human_ , how are you supposed to control yourself with one of those walking around all the time? Occasional visits are one thing, but a permanent stay? What if he squawks?” Martin asked in a rather squawk-like manner himself, still heeding to Harry’s bloody needs through his lecture.

“Who would believe him?” Harry challenged, accepting the glass Martin shoved at him and letting it soothe his deadly chills. “Look, that’s how it’s always been. Humans have snitched on our kind, and people call them insane for it, even lock them up in little crazy wards. No pitchforks are ever going to be raised on our lawn, rest assured. Humans aren’t nearly as gullible as they used to be. Well—” he immediately corrected, knocking his glass against the table for a refill. “—not about stuff like this, anyway.”

“Okay, but…” Martin trailed as he poured more blood, unable to see the logic or reason to this mess. “What if we lose control?”

Harry nearly choked on his mouthful and smashed his glass down like a gavel, his glare penetrating Martin's heart. “Louis is going to be safe under this roof, because we are going to protect him,” he growled dangerously as he rose from his seat and backed Martin up against a wall. “No harm is ever going to come to him from either of us, and if it’s you, I’m going to end you, do you understand?” he snapped, working hard to keep his voice down for a conversation like this that could be overheard—because it really shouldn’t be.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Martin peeped, not having much of a reply beyond that. He had never seen Harry so passionate about something before, and Harry had certainly never threatened him. Clearly this was serious business, and Martin officially made it his new job. “I’ll protect Louis. Even from you.”

Harry had begun to turn away, but he whipped back around at Martin’s last remark, staring hard into his butler’s eyes and wondering how he got so lucky. “That’s right,” he said with approval, butting their foreheads together affectionately. “I’m so glad I picked that cannon up off of you.”

“As am I, Harry,” Martin agreed with a breathy chuckle, waving Harry off when the Roman went upstairs to go pass out in his room. “As am I.”

 

\---

 

Louis woke up in a desperately confused panic. He knew right away that he wasn’t home from the smell in the air, and he shot up into a sitting position as he opened his eyes to find out what was amiss. _My god, this is the mansion_ , he realized as he took a look around, all of last night’s details filtering back into the realm of comprehension.

Last night was definitely nominated to win weirdest night of his life, but he wouldn’t be handing out any awards until he’d spent more time here. He had a feeling it was only going to get weirder.

First off, he had been legitimately kicked out of his own house. Something he’d dreamt about many times when the going was rough, but not something he thought would ever actually happen. His dear Mother had cried and sent him off while she bravely stayed behind to face whatever torment Troy had in store, and that wasn’t comforting. Louis swore he would do anything possible to help her get out of that house if that “plan” of hers didn’t work out, but he held out hope that it would.

Secondly, after the banishment, he’d walked all the way to the mansion at some god-awful hour in the middle of the night with only a backpack and a suitcase, having packed all the portable things he figured he might miss. His feet and quads were definitely paying the price for his travels now, considering it somehow hurt them when he _breathed_. In fact, his entire body was substantially sore from that insanely long journey he’d had to make, but what else is new?

Thirdly, once he’d finally gotten to the mansion in question, he’d called out into the echoing interior and demanded the owner show himself because it was “important this time.” He’d set his belongings down by the coffee table and collapsed into the couch, routinely shouting for Harry to pay attention to him. Of course no response had come, so he’d started vocally cursing Harry instead.

Lying on the couch doing nothing didn’t suffice for long, so he’d jumped up and moved his hair-care products into the shower and wrestled with the temperature settings for fifteen minutes before taking the most relaxing shower of his life. He’d then escaped to the music room where he aggressively busted out every song he knew on the piano several times over to distract himself from his inner demons.

Fourthly, that last session of playing _Year_ _Endless_ had concluded with a pointed applause from the doorway, and he’d finally met the impossible man of his wildest dreams. Harry Styles. That ominously odd creature had apparently watched him for a while, and he was just…standing there. Then, as if things weren’t unforgettable enough, Harry had swiftly addressed him as Alexander and proceeded to get more up in Louis’ personal space than Niall _ever_ had, and that’s saying something.

Fifthly, in a way that Louis may have asked for a simple cup of sugar, he asked to stay here...and Harry had agreed to let him move into the mansion. He’d guided him to a bedroom, and promptly left him to his own devices with zero knowledge of who he was even taking in, and it just didn’t add up. Louis figured that act of kindness either showed extreme trust in other people, or a fearless confidence that nothing could ever hurt him—because he could instantly kill anyone set to do him harm without even a glance in their direction. It’s probably that one. Either way, here Louis was, recounting every bullet point of the night he’d just lived through, and asking himself how sure he was that this was real.

Once he’d thought everything over again, it still didn’t make any sense, but he remembered it was Tuesday, and bigger problems arose. “Shit!” he cursed, flying off the bed and checking the front pocket of his backpack for his watch. 9:32 in the morning. “Shit,” he said again, dressing himself with the very first items he got his hands on. He would already be hopelessly late for school, but it’s not like he didn’t see a point in going. He wasn’t the type to take an easy day off because it was more convenient for him, so he’d walk all the way to school before getting back into bed.

He fashioned a decently presentable version of himself, and discarded everything in his backpack that wasn’t school related, leaving it all in a pile on the bed to clean up later. He shoved his feet into his shoes and skittered down the hallway to find a bathroom before he left. The only one he knew of was in the east wing, so he ran across the living room and dashed through the maze halls to reach that dysfunctional relic of his leg wound and orgasmic shower. A realization was conceived that he’d left the bloodied rag on the sink that day, which was disrespectful indeed, but apparently it had been disposed of. He’d have to apologize for the inconvenience for it later. Unless it was no hassle at all…

He shook the conspiracies out of his mind and emptied his bladder with an impressive speed, doing everything he could to his hair in the mirror before sprinting back out, only slowing down once he realized that running the entire way to school would probably kill him in the process. He pulled the front doors behind him until they shut with a click, and he took a lengthy deep breath of the cleanest air he’d had in his lungs for years.

Well, maybe the air wasn’t any different, but his life certainly was. More different than he ever imagined it could be. He was free. So yes, the air was cleaner; the birds chirped in joy for him, the flowers smelled more—floral—and every cloud in the sky spelled out ‘Good for you, Louis.’

He could get used to this.

 

\---

 

“Louis, what the hell!” Niall cried when Louis collapsed into the lunch bench. “Where have you been?”

“I really tried to get here before lunch,” Louis panted, accepting the water bottle that was pushed to him in concern.

“What’s going on?” Niall repeated, pressing the cold backs of his hands on Louis’ reddened and sweaty face as he gulped the water like a beached fish that was just put back in the ocean.

“Father-Troy kicked me out last night,” he informed with an outward gasp after finishing the bottle, nodding at Niall’s subsequent ‘I’m having a heart-attack’ face to confirm his claim. “It’s true.”

“My god, _Louis_! Where did you go? Why didn’t you come over to my pad?” Niall inquired, tossing over everything in his lunch bag that had been intended for Louis.

Louis grabbed the sandwich first and practically shoved the whole thing in his mouth at once, not quite ready to answer yet when his stomach was still having a hungry dance party in his body.  

“Oh, I know,” Niall said slyly, clapping his hands as he threw his head back to the ceiling. “You went to your boy—”

“Hmmph!” Louis muffled with a shriek, slapping his hand over Niall’s mouth before the dumbass alerted the entire cafeteria of Louis’ undeniable gayness.

“Shit, sorry,” the blonde whispered as he removed Louis’ hand, looking around at their fellow students and leaning closer to be more careful with their conversation. “But you did, didn’t you?”

Louis nodded and swallowed his humongous bite, chasing it down with Niall’s juice before resuming his laboured breathing. “Yes. And if it’s not too much to ask, he doesn’t have a car, and I can’t fucking walk that distance every day. Dad has my bike, but I haven’t gone back to get it yet, and—”

“Of course I’ll be your taxi, Lou. But does he really not have a car? Didn’t you say he lived alone?” Niall interrogated, confused at how those two things could correlate in this day and age.

“He…works from home,” Louis said, veering the conversation back on track before things got incriminating. “Thank you so much, Niall. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re in my life,” he praised, diving over the top of the bench and crushing the blonde in his arms.

“You know...for being so worried about conversation, you’d think you wouldn’t—”

“Ah, right,” Louis rasped, scoping around their audience and discovering Football-Troy was already smirking at him for the unintended ‘homo contact.’ “Shit.”

The bell rang to end lunch and Niall groaned to the heavens, always offended when his eating time was interrupted by such a loud and whiney bitch. “I’ll meet you by the bike racks, then?” Niall offered, already taking his tray to the trash can.

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis called after him, power-walking to his fifth class because it was the first one he’d been able to get to on time today.

 

\---

 

Absolutely nothing in that class was worth mentioning, or even staying awake for, so Louis will move on Mr. Carey’s. He’d received an official little ribbon upon arrival for agreeing to compete in the school competition that was happening tomorrow, and they’d spent the class time watching _Fiddler On The Roof_ a-fucking-gain, but Louis wasn’t complaining—it was about all he could handle.

The students catapulted out of class when the last bell rang like there was a swarm of bees in the room, and it left Louis alone with his teacher in record time. He knew Niall would be waiting for him at the bike racks, but he also knew that Niall was generally a snail, so he had some time.

He approached Mr. Carey’s desk and the man smiled like the sun at him from over his giant glasses, interlocking his fingers and setting them on his desk. “Hi, Louis,” he sung, adopting a curious expression when Louis simply pulled a chair up to his desk and did not immediately respond.

Louis sat for a long moment in contemplation, probably confusing the shit out of his teacher, but he just didn’t know where to start. When he saw that Mr. Carey was beginning to speak first, he cut him off, the topic that was on his mind spilling out like a popped water balloon. “Do you believe in immortality?”

If Mr. Carey was taken aback by the question, he didn’t show it; instead treating it seriously as if Louis had asked him what his stance on politics was. He thought long and hard and fiddled with his lips as he did so, finally conjuring an appropriate response and leaning back down to level with his student. “As an immediate response, I’d have to say no,” he said, producing a forlorn slump in Louis’ posture.

 _Why am I even asking?_ Louis mused sadly, realizing that his question would seem completely ridiculous to anyone  besides himself.

“However!” Mr. Carey added, perking Louis back up in interest. “That being said, I think there’s a lot that we don’t know,” he said truthfully, having considered things like this all his life.

“Really?” Louis asked hopefully, perhaps a little too excited to get an encouraging answer.

“Yes, really,” Mr. Carey promised without skipping a beat. “We don’t even know what’s at the bottom of our own oceans, much less space and beyond. I think there could be a lot living under noses that we never notice because we’re never looking. Because we think we know everything already…but that’s gotta be bullshit. We’re always learning, and it’s easy to forget that. I’m sure our ancestors didn’t gaze at the moon and assume we’d be walking on it someday. Impossible things seem to happen all the time, so I think it’s foolish to discredit anything we just haven’t seen yet,” he declared, sending Louis’ spirits straight up to the very moon he mentioned.

“Thank you.”

“However,” Mr. Carey interjected again, keeping poor Louis on his toes. “It is admittedly a strange question, why do you ask it so seriously?” he inquired, always interested by the complexity of his favourite student’s mind.

“Oh, I just read it somewhere, that’s all. The concept fascinated me, so I thought I’d ask about it,” he said, not having much of a problem with lying his way out of this one. Self-preservation, probably.

“Hmm…well if you ever meet an immortal, be sure to introduce me,” Mr. Carey requested, unknowingly opening a gigantic can of worms.

Louis exploded in a fit of incredibly forced and loud laughter, slowly backing out of the room with his backpack dragging along on the floor. “Yeah, I’ll…I’ll do that,” he stammered, running out before he could spill all of his crazy beans.

Mr. Carey watched the door close after Louis retreated and scratched at his head in confusion. Such an odd question, with an even more perplexing reaction. That’s Louis for you.

 

~~~

 

“Damn, there you are,” Niall chided, pulling Louis in under his arm and commencing the journey across the parking lot to his truck.

“Sorry, I had to talk to Mr. Carey about the assembly, you know—”

“Yeah, I know. Glamorous piano star stuff,” Niall gritted with pride, skipping on his feet and tickling Louis’ stomach as they walked.

“Ach, Niall, stop it!” Louis cried as he cackled, shoving Niall’s arms away until the blonde gave up and left his poor stomach alone.

“Can’t help it, Lou. I’m just so damn proud,” Niall said with a overdramatic sniffle, further proving he was in the wrong high school profession.

“You know, you should really be a theatre student,” Louis said honestly, referring more to his actual acting talent than the obviously fake stuff. “I’ve seen you recite Romeo and Juliet, and you have a real knack for it when you take it seriously.”

“I was actually thinking of auditioning for Macbeth at the end of the year,” Niall admitted, this time getting his stomach attacked with tickles.

“No shit? Niall, that’s great!” Louis praised, very enthusiastic of the idea. “I bet you’d get all the flowers,” he cooed like a grandmother would while pinching your cheeks.

“Yeah right,” Niall chuckled, opening the passenger door for Louis because he’s that type of gentleman. He walked around after Louis was inside and climbed in himself, noting that they hadn’t been bothered by Troy even once. “You know, I think he’s backing off because you’re not riding your bike anymore. No way for him to like…stalk you,” he theorized, watching Troy’s frustrated face as he pulled his clunky white truck out of its parking spot.

“Maybe,” Louis responded boredly, looking the complete opposite direction of Troy because he didn’t need or want his recognition.

“So, where am I goin’?” Niall asked excitedly, smug that he would finally discover where Louis had been routinely hiding recently.

“Ah, uh…” Louis muttered, debating what he should do in his head. Was it really a good idea to reveal that his home was the notorious mansion of doom? It’s not that he didn’t trust Niall, because he did, but should the blonde be privy to such delicate information? “Just take me to the edge of the forest, and I can walk the rest of the way from there,” Louis decided, cringing under Niall’s death glare.

“Oh no. No, no, no, I am _not_ letting this one go. You’re gonna tell me where it is, or I’m not taking you,” Niall declared, adding a nice touch of desperation to the situation. He would take him anyway, don’t get him wrong, but Louis is easy to persuade.

“Ugh, just take me to the forest,” Louis grumbled, stubbornly standing his ground for this one.

“You must really like this cat,” Niall said, never before witnessing his mind games meet any end besides a successful one.

“He just doesn’t want people knowing where he lives,” Louis defended, supposing there was at least some measure of truth to that. “I’m sure when I’ve been with him longer, he’ll want to meet my best friend. Just not yet?” Louis pleaded hopefully, also aware that he could bend Niall to his will when he needed to as well.

“Alright,” Niall sighed in defeat, turning onto the road that would take them right up against the forest. “But you’re going to tell me someday,” he said sternly, eliciting a sharp nod in response.

“Of course,” Louis agreed, settling down into quietude for the helpful car ride he really could have used this morning.  

 

\---

 

“Here? Are you sure?” Niall asked, still trying to pull more clues out of Louis. This was not enough. It really was just the edge of the forest, and he required much more detail than this.

“Yes, Niall, pull over,” Louis laughed, already slipping his arms through the straps of his backpack.

Niall groaned in protest but did as he was told, bringing the truck to a stop and putting it in neutral as they said their goodbyes.

“Can you pick me up here in the morning?” Louis asked with puppy dog eyes, the very kind that stole Niall’s soul when they first met.

“I…yeah, I will,” Niall said easily, wrapping Louis up in his arms and holding back every demanding question he had behind his lips—there were a lot.

“Far out, thanks,” Louis quipped, jumping out of the truck and using all of his upper body strength to close the door. They came to a stalemate in which Niall didn’t want to drive away because he wanted to see which direction Louis would go, and Louis didn’t want to move because he didn’t want Niall knowing which direction he would go. It was a problem.

He eventually slapped on Niall’s door a bunch to fondly shoo him off, and he could hear Niall’s responding groan in his head as the blonde forfeited. Niall waved in disappointment and put his truck in gear, slowly driving away and watching Louis out of the rear-view mirror. When the testy Louis didn’t move an inch, he accelerated to normal speed and grudgingly disappeared around the corner.  

Louis sighed in relief and instantly sprinted into the forest before Niall could do something Niall-y like turn back around and speed down the road to catch Louis’ retreating form.

Evidently, that didn’t end up coming to pass, and Louis slowed to a leisurely pace as he admired the forest’s colour in the daylight. When running through it at night, these same trees took on a very Snow White-esque aesthetic and almost seemed to reach out and grab you. However, their innocence was crystal clear when the sun was shining through the tops of their green leaves. Perspective is everything.

He came up sideways on the mansion and jogged down the hill to turn the corner and reach the front gate, not even slightly willing to make an attempt at jumping over the menacingly high and pointed fences. Death by impalement was not something he desired, and he had questions to get answered first. He grabbed a bar of the fence when he came to the gate and swung himself around into the yard, trekking back up the same dastardly hill he’d just eased his way down.

The contrast of this mansion in the night and daytime was always staggering, and he couldn’t wait for Saturday when he could have the whole day again to roam it as he pleased. Though, maybe he would have to tone down the snooping considering Harry and him were now on speaking terms. He’d give it some time.

If his assumptions were correct, then Harry would awake at around seven or eight at night, so Louis had roughly four-ish hours to himself, and he already knew what he would do with the time. Eat the food he’d previously stolen that was scattered across his bed, organize and find a place for all his belongings, officially make his room his own, and expertly smash piano keys until sundown.

Louis slipped through the front doors and dropped his stuff off at the coffee table, simply because he was more used to this spot for now. He’d stayed here in this little corner for a whole weekend, and he decided stairs were a foe he didn’t wish to challenge quite yet. He really just wanted to head straight for the piano, but the weight of graduation hung heavy over his head—he _had_ to do his fucking homework, or he’d regret it.

With a petulant groan, he laid all of his work out on the coffee table, shrugging his jacket off and heaving a sigh of preparation. He lifted his pencil and just barely touched it to the name line when his stomach shrieked at him to be fed. “Damnit,” he muttered, throwing his pencil down and wandering to the kitchen because Harry had mentioned he’d get his butler to buy food last night. Though...if they were nocturnal, then that probably meant tonight. He looked around the kitchen when he got there, but there was nothing on display, and he started to wonder if they physically _couldn't_ be in sunlight.

He turned in a slow circle and caught sight of the chained and padlocked refrigerator, a wild stream of theories floating around his head. The honey-coloured fridge obviously contained something that Louis shouldn’t see, and he could only imagine how much blood must fill its shelves. He tentatively tried to pull the door open to get even a sliver of view inside, but they had done their job right, and it wouldn’t budge at all. “Fine,” he sighed, checking the cabinets one more time for food that wouldn’t be found.

He made the reluctant journey to the second floor to collect the smashed food off his bed, but once upstairs, his rampant curiosity snagged his soul like it had made a contract and his time was nigh. Time to explore.

He aimlessly walked around to find more stairs and ignored every single door he passed, not knowing which one held Harry or this unseen Martin of his. He made it all the way up to the fourth floor and slowed his steps, content to take in the much thicker air and calm his sneaky adrenaline.

He strolled along the halls and stopped every once in awhile to admire a portrait or painting of who he now _knew_ was Harry, and the dates they showcased were even more proof. Apparently Harry had an identical twin, and that fact was especially interesting, but he wouldn’t go asking Harry all about his personal life just yet—he’d probably get nothing but vague answers anyway until Harry knew that _he_ knew what Harry was. If that makes any sense.

The hallway split into yet another two-way dead end, and Louis instinctively peeked around to the left first, staring wide-eyed at the only open door that hung invitingly at the end of the corridor. He contained his victorious cackling to his mind and walked across the wooden floors like a spy, routinely checking over his shoulder for the potential evil butler that had been following him this whole time. No such adversary arose, and he disappeared into the room undetected, closing the door before he even looked inside. He didn’t know what kinds of things could be behind him, and he whipped around in a flash, frowning when the only things to see were sheet-covered mirrors. At least, that’s what they looked like.

He approached one such example and grabbed a fistful of the dusty sheet, ripping it off whatever it concealed and meeting his own shocked reflection on the other side. Bingo. _Now, why would you have covered mirrors, Harry?_ he accused, thinking back to the light vampire reading he’d done in the school library two days ago before the starting bell had rung. If Harry couldn’t see his reflection, that would explain why all owned mirrors were thrown together up here; but then again, why would he even _have_ them in the first place if they served no purpose? Perhaps they were a reminder?

Louis shuddered at the thought of not being able to see yourself as you get ready in the morning, but maybe that’s his abhorrent vanity talking. If going by the way Harry looked when they met, the immortal managed just fine without. Louis walked in a large circle around the mirrors, sometimes lifting the sheets up to stare at himself, but mostly settling to dirty his fingers by dragging them along the colonially old fabric.

He kept walking even after he’d passed the last one, so busy glaring at the mirrors behind him that he didn’t notice the rug at his feet, and down he went. “Ah, _God_ ,” he whined angrily, wincing as he raised himself on his knees and seared his eyes into the apparent point of impact. A tiny triangle of an overturned rug had sent him to his faceplant grave, and he reached his hand out flip the destructive carpet back over, but that’s when he saw _it_.

Opposite the rug triangle was a corresponding wooden triangle on the floor, both making a perfect square if you had the right perspective—but square, triangle, or pentagonal fucking dodecahedron, Louis needed to get into it right this instant. He stood from his defeated condition and folded the old and heavy rug in half over itself to reveal his actual dream come true. “A goddamn trapdoor,” he breathed out loud, slowly shaking his head while his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. For the first and only time in his life, he’d actually found a mysteriously unknown trapdoor, and _of course_ it would be in this mansion. Point is, all bets were officially off.

He leapt around to its front and lifted the latch in the center, cringing as its hinges creaked to the heavens, and walking it backward to gently lay it open. All that laid beneath was a pit of jet-black darkness, and the stairs that led down into it were terrifying to say the least, but Louis couldn’t be happier or he’d have a heart attack. He placed a hand down on the corner of the top step to lean in and listen for any telling sounds, but he ended up making quite the noise himself in doing so.

He gripped whatever his hand had slightly dragged across the concrete and lifted it up for inspection. It was a cold silver Zippo lighter, and he turned it over in his hand as a devious smirk darkened his expression. Apparently this was a frequently visited place, and he popped the cap open to strike the thumbwheel and ignite the wick, extending his arm back into the depths of the trapdoor to illuminate a more promising portion of it.

All he could see were more stairs, but he now had the confidence to descend them, so he placed one hand on the room’s floor behind him and lowered himself down step by step with bent knees until there was enough room to stand. He crept down the spiral staircase as quietly as he could because every little sound would make an expansive echo, but he loudly knocked his hand into a candle holder regardless.

He held his breath so he wouldn’t curse and shown the Zippo onto the candle, realizing why it was there and lighting it with the flame in his hand. Once he had the candle flickering, he closed the Zippo with one hand, rolling his eyes because that became the most noisy thing he’s done yet. He waited several moments to make sure no sounds followed from below, and then he twisted the candle out of its metal cage and used that to show him the way instead.

He couldn’t tell you how long he walked down because he kept stopping whenever he made a peep of noise, but before he had time to take it in, the last step was in view _as well as_ the corner of a bed, and he scrambled back up a few steps before he ran straight into the unknown. He waited for his heart to settle before squinting into the dark, the dripping candle in his hand his only salvation from unadulterated panic. He cheered himself on as positively as he could, giving his mind all the pep talks it apparently needed to force him down those last couple of steps.

He squeezed his eyes shut and used the wall to feel his way down, opening them once he felt the curved wall open up so he wouldn’t trip off the last step. He was now standing in Harry’s bedroom judging by the silky wonderland it displayed, and of course _the man himself_ asleep in his bed on the floor. Louis held his breath and covered his mouth as he stared at the immortal, his stomach in knots over Harry waking up and finding Louis disrespectfully invading so much of his privacy.

It didn’t take much staring for Louis to notice how dead Harry actually looked, and suddenly all the fears that he’d be discovered flew right back up the stairs he’d tiptoed down. He dashed forward to deposit the candle in the convenient holder atop Harry’s short side table, and fretfully bent over his motionless figure like a paranoid creep. It was a lot to take in, but Louis will try.

Harry was lying there on his back shirtless like an ethereal God taking a permanent nap, and every feature begged to be described. His long hair was free of its earlier tie, and it fanned out around his pillow like each strand had been individually placed with artistic intention. Its rich brown colour was visible enough in the candlelight that it seemed to glow…in contrast with his skin, that is. His skin appeared paler than Louis remembered, but it was perhaps due to mediocre illumination that it gave off the impression of death.

Harry’s left arm was pushed up underneath his pillow, his long fingers curled over the top of it, and his right arm was crossed down his torso with his palm delicately resting over the opposite hipbone, and Louis was admittedly jealous that _he_ wasn’t lightly touching that hip like it was nothing.

Moving on down the flawless picture, Harry’s left leg was bent and shoved at the ankle under his right one, which was straight and only visible by the slender foot that snuck out from the haphazardly flung sheet on his lower body. He was wearing some expensive black pyjama bottoms around his long legs, and Louis fought hard to leave their seductive texture alone.

Around Harry’s neck was a string with a large, skeleton-like key that had flashbacks of the locked west hall room shooting into Louis’ brain. Could this be that key? Louis had promised himself that he wouldn’t go breaking into things in this mansion even if he found the corresponding keys to them, but there wasn’t a person on this planet who wouldn’t sympathize that it was tempting. The longer Louis stared at Harry’s torso, the more he began to realize that the fantastic specimen was a little _too_ unmoving. _Too_ quiet.

Louis didn’t have a satisfactory angle where he stood, so he dropped down to his knees and got level with Harry’s chest, watching it with rapt attention to see if it moved at all. It did not.

“Harry?” Louis whisper-shouted, bravely poking his arm to get some sort of comforting reaction. Harry’s skin was lifelessly cold, and he actually wasn’t moving at all, and how the actual hell had Louis overlooked this? He automatically assumed the worst, and the wave of anxiety it brought skyrocketed itself into the solar system. “Harry!” he repeated a bit louder, climbing onto the mattress and slamming his ear down on Harry’s chest, desperate to hear the lively thumping of a heartbeat, but he may as well have heard crickets bouncing around in there instead.

“Harry,” he whined, shaking the man like a polaroid, but not getting much done in the process. “Harry?” he squeaked with a sob, grabbing his face this time and shaking that instead. Harry jarringly grunted in annoyance and slapped Louis’ hands away, shifting around and huffing in his…what, sleep? He’s _just sleeping_? Louis had stayed absolutely still throughout that whole plot twist, and now his entire world was left in shambles. This is impossible.

Harry’s left arm was now thrown across Louis’ lap because he whacked it down from under his pillow, and Louis had to move it or he’d be stuck here forever. He really didn’t want to move the arm, he _really_ didn’t, but it was a monstrous damper on his escape plan, so he sucked it up and courageously grabbed Harry’s wrist, keeping a close eye on the immortal’s face as he lifted his heavy arm up and over his head. Once it was just above his field of vision, Louis chanced an upward glance to find out what cloth he was feeling around the Harry’s wrist. His eyes focused in on the darkly-patched white rag.

“What the—” he choked, roughly yanking Harry’s arm toward the candle to get a better look at it, all prior carefully made movements forgotten. He twisted the rag in a full circle around Harry’s chilly forearm, shocked beyond all description that the object truly was what he had initially thought it was—the rag he’d used for his wounded leg on his first visit here. Harry kept it _on his arm_??

“You _are_ a vampire,” he mouthed incredulously, barely enough breath in his lungs to make it a full whisper. He returned Harry’s arm to his chest and dropped it without a care, only slightly flinching when the impossible man grunted again from the rough treatment. Louis got bold and scooted closer, creeping his hands up to Harry’s lips to push a corner of the top one back and expose the potentially sharper set of teeth than he remembered to complete the vision.

His invasive prodding only revealed a row of normal teeth and he heaved a sigh of relief, but it still didn’t explain anything. _If you’re not vam—_

A sudden angry hiss cut off his train of thought, and he yanked his hand back when Harry lunged for the outside force that had touched his face. “Oh my god,” Louis cried as Harry’s true and hidden fangs made their first dangerous appearance. They had extended in the span of a millisecond, and if Louis didn’t have confusingly fast reflexes, those fangs would be a half-inch deep into his wrist by now.

When the still sleeping Harry didn’t immediately catch what had bothered him, he grumbled and shifted around again, rolling around onto his stomach and plunging the environment back into a serenely peaceful one—but Louis could find no such peace after what he’d just witnessed.

So Harry was an immortal vampire from Rome or France, and he was evidently lusting after Louis judging by the infamous rag he still kept on his body. Not only did this explain the man’s backwards sleeping schedule, it also explained the first time he had yelled at Louis to leave. Was he just trying to protect him? Had Louis drove him wild with all the blood that night? There really was blood in the fridge, wasn’t there?

“Holy shit,” Louis laughed in spite of his stress, staring down at the unwakeable _vampire_ and giggling because for the first time, he knew everything. He’d figured it out, the puzzle was complete, point A finally matched point B, and Louis couldn’t be happier, or more proud of himself for sticking to the case.

Only an investigative detective who’d just solved _the_ mystery of their entire career could understand how Louis felt in this moment. He was brimming with excitement and anticipation to uncover the secrets of Harry’s “imaginary” and “mythical” species, but there was a frustrating period of awkward small-talk to endure before they could get there.  

With delicious success on the tip of his tongue, Louis snatched the candle back in his hand and blew a cheeky kiss to the actual immortal, climbing the stairs back to the mirror room so he could go downstairs for a shower; being as loud as he damn well pleased because he’d already learned his first official fun fact about vampires:

They were fucking impossible to wake up.

 

~~~

 

_Hadrian had told Alexander he was going out for a nighttime stroll, but of course that was a blatant lie. It had been around forty years since Hadrian had last overpowered an innocent human, and he couldn’t stand abstaining from that exceptional thrill a moment longer._

_Life had been fulfilling with Alexander to love and care for him, but there were some things even The Great could not adequately substitute, the most prominent of which being the addictively enrapturing blend of fear and pleasure that a human broadly radiated while being fatally fed off of._

_There was absolutely nothing in the entire world that even came close to the perfection of killing, and Hadrian was under the bold impression that he deserved to experience the feeling again after such a rough couple of decades. Every aspect of the social and political realms in this age were a corrupted mess, but the very last Roman Emperor, Romulus, getting overthrown by Odoacer who then declared himself ‘King of Italy’ had served as Hadrian’s breaking point—but he’d still held it all in. Until now._

_Hadrian vehemently detested this new landmark of Italy that overshadowed his flawless Rome, and as well he should. The entire concept was unacceptable, and it felt inherently wrong, but he knew that not much could be done about it by his own hands. Killing the German Chieftain would only put another like-minded prick in his place, so what was left? Outlets for unfiltered rage._

_Alexander and Hadrian had gone to Rome and back in 477 to steal Hadrian’s likened marble sculpture created by his good friend Antinous, because he never shut up about it, and Alexander was done listening to his whines. Hadrian was never willing to let that masterpiece fade away, so with Alexander’s exasperated assistance, he took it right out of the Pantheon he’d built himself, and additionally stole a stone from his infamous wall when they’d returned to Britannia._

_After their fruitful looting spree, Hadrian and Alexander had sat in anxious await as the Eastern and Western Orthodox churches ran amuck and gradually sparked an ever-lasting irreconcilable controversy between themselves. Simply watching the world go by without interfering in even the most innocent of political affairs was simply more than Hadrian and his pride could handle. Whether he just did not yet possess the carefully nurtured patience of Alexander, or if he would never be able to garnish such a virtue was unclear, but it did not matter tonight. Tonight, he was an enemy of the humans—he could work on forcing friendly bonds with them in the next decade._

_He made it all the way to the coast where he’d decided his hunting grounds would be and hid in the shadows beside a shack, surrounded by mounds of hay as he waited for a young slave boy to meander through and restock on the needed supplies to tend to the ships that were lined along the soggy wooden docks._

_His senses perked when he spotted one such boy skipping down a gangplank with an empty bucket in his overworked hands. He didn’t move a muscle as he watched his prey, deciding he would strike out fatally without utilizing his undeniable lure. He could seduce the next one._

_He reached out in a blur of movement when the human was close enough, snatching him backward into his lair of hay faster than anyone could see and embedding his fangs into the soft neck, taking his sweet time and allowing the human his well earned pleasure too. Vampires that drank too fast were low-life scums of the Earth. If you’re going to take a human life, let them fully enjoy it. It’s the least you can do. The human’s back arched in ecstasy from the bliss he was lost in, grinding his arse into Harry’s crotch and moaning into the night. Harry groaned against his neck and walked him up against the shack wall, running his hands all over the human’s front in a heated embrace and making gentle thrusts with his hips to profit from friction._

_The prey got weaker and weaker as time went on, and Harry lowered them down onto the ground, turning around so his back was against the wall and he was cradling the human in-between his legs. He ran his warming hands down the sides of the boy’s arms, and then snaked them around his bony chest, detaching with a gasp when he’d taken every drop out of his victim._

_The boy’s head lolled back onto his shoulder when Harry pulled away, and he lightly scratched at his scalp in thanks, giving his cold temple a sweet kiss and placing him on what would soon be the bottom of a large pile. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and held a palm to his chest, driving himself wild with desire to get more life in him and feel how he used to feel long ago—before Alexander came around and made him into a cowardly and reluctant predator._

_This is what their kind did, and who was he to deny his natural impulses? Who was anyone? ‘Not Alexander,’ he thought petulantly, returning to his hunting position and waiting for lucky human number two._

 

_\---_

 

_“Hello,” he spoke to his next young lad, just the right distance away from his victim pile that the human could not see or smell them over yonder._

_“Are you a God?” the boy asked with eyes wide as the moon, unknowingly sending Hadrian deeper into his ego frenzy._

_“I thought humans did not believe in us anymore,” he played along, wishing he could break character to laugh at the human’s dumbfounded face._

_“W–we do,” the human stuttered, already walking toward Hadrian whether he told his feet to move or not. “Why have you come here?” he inquired with a moan, tripping over his toes to try and get to the God and offer himself._

_That is what the vampire lure is. To seduce you in such a way that the only thing you want to do if give yourself completely, and no vampire was better at it than Hadrian. Hadrian could tempt any human on Earth, and he didn’t need the shallow promise of sex to do it. Well he didn’t know of Alexander’s ability, it probably compared to his own, but he’s not here, is he?_

_The human reached Hadrian’s open arms and stepped happily into his embrace, barely even noticing when they flashed backwards across the dock in the span of a blink. Hadrian held the back of the human’s head with a shaky hand as he pierced his fangs through the neck before him, dangerously close to overdosing if he didn’t catch an hour’s break at least._

_Overdosing on blood was a nasty business. No, you won’t die, but you’ll wish you could. Once you go over this certain amount of blood, you go into a coma-like state until it all wears off, and that can be dangerous if you’re not in a good place to sleep for a long time. Times like this he wished he could have Alexander nearby to make him stop, but he was already too close to that point for easy return._

_“Hadrian!” a voice boomed from the streets, forcing Hadrian’s red eyes to fly open and reveal the relief and guilt swirling around within them. Seeing Alexander just across the cobbles gave him the strength to take his teeth out, and he gasped for air as his pained head spun._

_“Put. Him. Down,” Alexander commanded snappishly, much more worried with the state of his lover than the blissful gratification of the human. He was still alive and dandy, Hadrian might not be._

_Hadrian wanted to obey more than anything, but a vicious growl ripped from his throat instead, apparently alerting Alexander how serious the situation was becoming._

_“Okay, alright,” Alexander soothed, holding his hands up in surrender but stalking forward all the same, eliciting a hateful hiss in his direction._

_“Do not interfere, Alexander,” Hadrian spat, enduring mini-explosions in his head over and over again as he fought between his addiction and his resistance._

_Alexander had tolerated quite enough of Hadrian’s nonsense, and he was close enough now that he could effortlessly save the human, so goodbye Mr. Nice Guy. He rushed forward and punched Hadrian in the cheek so hard that the Roman had no choice but to drop the human and stagger backward from the force. “Listen to yourself!” he roared in an icy tone that felt like water washing over Hadrian’s clarity. “You pitiful addict! Fucking pathetic, why do I even try? Have fun being a monster without me,” he threatened, beginning to walk away as if it were truly the last straw, but Hadrian could see that bluff from the other side of the sea._

_Hadrian snuck a hand under the human’s leaking neck and gathered a pool of blood in his palm, trotting forward to reach Alexander and slap some sense into him. Literally. “You think you’re so fucking strong,” he sneered hatefully, bubbling in anticipation for Alexander’s predictably offended response._

_Alexander’s shoulders hunched and his stomping stride came to a dead halt. He slowly pivoted over his left shoulder as he began the words “How DARE—”  but he was swiftly cut off when Hadrian smacked a cupped hand straight over his mouth, depositing a decent mouthful of the live human’s blood straight into the back of Alexander’s scandalized throat._

_The rush of unparalleled euphoria that came over Alexander was like nothing that had ever been documented. If Hadrian thought that a couple decades was a long time to abstain from blood, he never would have lasted the centuries that Alexander has._

_“You’re no better than I am,” Hadrian growled lowly, smirking at the wonderful sight of Alexander desperately licking at his hand and going wild with thirst._

_Alexander ignored Hadrian’s crass words because nothing could make him care about pride right now—the only thing he needed now was more. More, more, more. He leapt into the hay enclosure and continued with the boy where Hadrian had left off, killing him almost instantly without a shred of guilt to accompany his action._

_Hadrian followed smugly behind his love as he pillaged the fishing town in search of life, quietly watching Alexander at work and getting respectively hard from the statue it sculpted. Alexander was far too amped up to maintain a reasonable pace of life-taking, so calculated lures did not come into play once, and Hadrian was all in favour. Alexander strongly committed to sheerly overpowering everything in sight, attracting all sorts of attention as he went, and doing a damn fine job of it._

_This Alexander turned Hadrian on more intensely than he’d probably ever been in his whole existence, and the Macedonian knew that. With every sultry look in Hadrian’s direction while he was burrowed in the neck of some lucky human, even the stars had to know that their sexual tension would need addressing soon. Lest they do it on these very stained streets._

_A stressful point in the night arose wherein Hadrian consistently failed to make the overindulgent Alexander stop like he’d done for him mere hours before. Nothing he said seemed to get through at all, and Alexander was laughably stronger than Hadrian in almost every way, so the panicked Hadrian soon found himself on the brink of tears._

_Alexander only pushed Hadrian and his blubbering concern away, knowing damn well what his limit was and how not to cross it. If Hadrian was worried because he wasn’t strong enough to stop him, the Roman should also recall that he wasn’t even strong enough to stop himself. And Alexander is. He dropped the human with a thud to the ground and let Hadrian into his arms instead, easing his needless worries and further suggesting they return home before sunrise._

_“I want you inside me,” Hadrian moaned out of the blue in place of a more classed answer, shamelessly rutting his bulging erection against Alexander’s thigh. An intelligent grovel to distract Alexander from overdosing, but his own lust was also a noteworthy factor._

_The desperate plea took Alexander by surprise because their sex was usually the other way around; though he must admit, if there was any night specifically designated for Alexander to command dominance, tonight was it. “Of course you do. Do you think you could overpower me in this condition?” he taunted into Harry’s neck, tightening a fist in his Roman’s thick hair and forcing his head up to look at him. “You’re under me tonight,” he said darkly between kisses and bites to the skin, releasing Harry to grip his forearm and speedily drag him all the way back home._

_Hadrian was beyond satisfied at this turn of events. Over time he had begun to hate the air of superiority he frequently reigned over Alexander. The ‘Great’ Macedonian was far older than Hadrian was, had done more in his life, was stronger, faster, and all around better, but he was controlled and regulated by his weak emotions? He let Hadrian take charge and dominate him, and the Roman eventually got sick of it. He wanted a stronger and more ferocious Alexander to watch over him and hold him down while he fucked him, and he was beyond elated that he now finally made that happen._

_“You’re going to regret what you’ve done,” Alexander snarled as he shoved him into their house, already circling him like a lion rounds on their prey._

_Hadrian wanted to wipe the cheeky smile off his face, he really did, but when you get everything you’ve ever wanted, it’s hard to frown in the face of it. “Well I don’t yet, do I? You gonna make me or what?” Hadrian sassed, naïvely baiting Alexander to snap, and squealing in glee when his Macedonian lover finally lunged at him. It was going to be a rough night._

 

~~~

 

Harry’s eyes opened slowly this time, savouring the visual flashes of that dream before he thought too much and it all faded back into memory. “You really fucked the shit out of me that night,” he recalled fondly, rubbing at his neck to feel the scarred bites on it—the only part of Alexander that remained on his body.

After he’d gotten Alexander to relapse, they had traveled to every corner of the world as the perfect killing team, luring men and women into their grasp by the dozens. It had been a wild time, but Harry had started to feel Alexander’s resentment toward him for “making him a monster again,” and it took a long time to reconcile that divide...but Alexander never left his side.

As Harry came back into his current reality, he noticed a lot of things were wrong with the air of his room, and he sniffed around to ultimately conclude that Louis had without a doubt been in here while he was sleeping. “That little creep,” he muttered with a grin, following his overly sensitive nose to detect everything Louis had touched. Apparently Louis had been on his bed and unwarrantedly touching his very body, and Harry can only imagine what must have spurred from that investigation. Did Louis realize Harry wasn’t breathing? Did he notice the complete lack of a beating heart in Harry’s unmoving chest?

The Roman sat up and slapped around for one of his lighters, finding his favourite on the bottom shelf of his side table and flicking it on while he reached an arm back behind his bed for the pile of candles that inevitably accumulated over time. He held the lighter’s dancing flame over the chosen candle’s wick until it caught, snapping the lighter closed and tossing it back to where he’d found it. He had to get dressed for Louis’ mental health, so he dropped the candle in its holder to have free hands, smiling when he smelled Louis all over the metal object. Nosy person, indeed.

He stayed in his silk bottoms because he couldn’t be bothered to change them, and added a modern t-shirt so he could be more relatable to Louis. The shirt in question was given to him by Zayn as a sodding birthday present, and he wouldn’t dare skip griping over the fact that he’d actually received a _birthday present_. What a stupid thing to celebrate every single year.

He wrangled his hair into a high and messy bun, lacking the energy or motivation to do much else, and shrugged himself into a luxurious black robe of the finest cotton. Nothing else needed to go with him, so he blew out the candle on his table and climbed the stairs in the pitch black, seeing every little thing in vivid detail as if it were daylight. Harry lights candles because he adores their honey-coloured glow, not because he needs to see.

He opened the trapdoor and pointlessly fixed the rug to cover it. There really was no point, Louis had already found it, and his scent was guiltily hanging on every sheet-covered mirror in this room. He chuckled and walked out into the hall, dropping down to the third floor, and then down to the second. He wouldn’t drop down the last story because he knew Louis was in the living room, and Harry floating down to greet him might be a bit obvious—disregarding the fact that Louis already knew almost everything, of course. This was a fun game indeed.

 

~~~

 

Louis was three-quarters done with his history report when he heard what sounded like creaking floorboards from the back-left of him. He finished his sentence and looked back over his left shoulder, leaning side to side to get all optimum viewpoints covered and humming curiously when he found nothing to match the short-lived sound. He turned back around to resume his diligent conspiring, and he just barely sensed the suffocating presence to his right before it spoke.

“Hello, Louis,” Harry greeted into the silence from a suspicious position between the coffee table and couch, suddenly so close that he was in arm’s distance.

“Jesus!” Louis cried, gripping at his chest and heaving the breath from his lungs.

“I’m sorry, did I startle you?” Harry taunted innocently, finding more fun in this game of cat and mouse than he ever did slaughtering entire families in their homes.

Louis glared at Harry’s creepy antics and settled his panic, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms in a manner that suggested he was not impressed. “That’s what happens when people are snuck up on,” he retorted, annoyed with Harry’s form of personal entertainment, but unexpectedly appreciative that the immortal was wearing a Rolling Stones shirt.

“I assure you it wasn’t my intention,” Harry formally pledged, taking a presumptuous seat on the couch and draping his arm across the back of it, independently begging Louis to scoot into his hold. When Louis did nothing of the sort, Harry took it up a notch, disinclined to let a human hold his ground in Harry’s ancient presence. “What did you do today?” he asked with a subtle lip bite after the question left his mouth, watching the frantic gears turn in Louis’ head as he gathered his likely well-rehearsed alibi.

“This,” Louis croaked, gesturing widely to the coffee table and faking about four yawns in a row to get himself out of the spotlight.

Harry took a glance at the coffee table and thanked Zeus for Louis leaving such a perfect continuation to the teasing. “Do you smoke?” he asked, his eyes surely sparkling as Louis furrowed his brows in confusion.

“No?” Louis answered slowly, subsequently shaking his head like a dog expelling water from their coat of fur.

“Oh, you don’t? What did you use this for, then?” Harry asked neutrally, reaching over and sliding his own Zippo from the table into his palm, patronizingly holding it up before the wide-eyed of the now slightly sweating Louis.

“That’s not mine,” Louis defended stupidly, so desperate to get the lighter accountability away from him that he simultaneously admitted to the both of them that he’d taken it from Harry. _I can’t believe I didn’t just put it back when I found it in my pocket earlier. Why didn’t I put it back? Shit._

“Ah,” Harry quipped, pocketing the lighter within the inside of his robe. “I’ll just keep it, then.”

“Right,” Louis whispered, disguising the lack of vocals as a congested throat and hacking out a wildly over exaggerated coughing fit. He turned to his fabricated history report to gather his thoughts for the upcoming ‘Operation Outage,’ but of course Harry wouldn’t be giving him any measure of a break.

“History, is it?” the vampire remarked, leaning over into Louis’ territory and grinning when he saw a crayon-drawn French flag badly scribbled onto a piece white construction paper. “Ahhh, France. Great winters, terrible summers, interesting cuisine, warm people,” he mused wistfully, deciding at that moment he’d travel back to France someday, see how it had fared after its traumatizing Revolution.

“Warm people?” Louis questioned suspiciously, heavily considering the deathly cold skin that covered his current company, and furiously connecting dots between the two factors.

“ _Kind_ people,” Harry immediately reiterated, not too full of his pride that he couldn’t admit he’d made a minor mistake in word choice.

“Right, okay,” Louis muttered skeptically, his heartbeat pounding as he commenced part one of his devious plan to out the bitch once and for all. “I’m doing a report on the French Revolution,” he lied expertly, pretending not to notice the sound of Harry’s teeth snapping together in his mouth.

“Are you?” Harry mused neutrally, standing to walk around the room and inspect objects on the fireplace he wasn’t really looking at.

“Yeah, King Louis XV really made a mess of the economy,” Louis said with a chuckle, secretly watching Harry as he leaned down to ‘write more of his report.’

“Sixteenth,” Harry corrected automatically as he ran his hand across the dusty mantle of his fireplace, making a mental note to flog Martin for this neglect later—don’t worry, he liked it.

“What? Oh, yeah, of course,” Louis said with an uncaring wave of his wrist. “They were pretty stupid, weren’t they? The protesters,” he added daringly, taking the most dangerous route he could—one that solicited anger.

“Their cause was justified,” Harry replied calmly, knowing the second it was brought up that the sneaky human was intentionally toying with him. He would not fall victim to such amateur tricks.

“Maybe, but it didn’t work at all. Napoleon set everything back to the way it was in 1798,” Louis reasoned, shaking his head condescendingly and _tsk_ ing like he could have done better.

“1799,” Harry rectified again, looking back to give Louis an easy and carefree smile before continuing to stroll around with his hands clasped behind his back.

“No, it was 1798,” Louis stressed ignorantly, goading the vampire as far as humanly possible, pardon the pun.

“Sorry, but you’re wrong,” Harry gritted, turning to face Louis so the human wouldn’t see his hands clenching into agitated fists behind his back.

“That’s not what my book says,” Louis argued childishly, lifting the blocky thing up and pointing to it for emphasis. “My book says it was 1798—”

“Well, your book is wrong!” Harry snarled angrily, all of his careful proceedings shattering in an instant.

If you asked Alexander what Hadrian’s worst trait was, he would tell you it was his explosive temper.

“In 1799, I was already—” the vampire continued in a shout, cutting himself off with a sound that compared to his throat being physically choked, his anxiety-riddled mind clawing around for a way out of the revealing shit he’d just accidentally alluded to.

Louis’ responding smile was slow and victorious, and the knowingly raised eyebrow completed the air of utter supremacy he wore, like he’d just caught a formidably evasive mouse in the most elaborate scheme of traps the world has ever seen. “Gotcha,” he muttered like a King, shaking the textbook in his hands and dropping it on the coffee table with a loud thump. “I know it was 1799! And don’t worry, my book thinks so too. This whole report is fake, I just wanted to hear you say something you couldn’t back out of.”

 _This little vixen,_ Harry cursed in spite of his astonishment at the boy’s impressive accomplishment, staring at Louis like he was neither human nor vampire; instead, a never before seen species of creature that had been put specifically on this Earth to fuck with Harry’s life. “You were in my room today,” Harry deflected instantly, a last ditch effort at getting the conversation back in his control.

Louis was temporarily taken aback by the blurted accusation, but a quick reply made its way onto his tongue before he was made to think too hard. He didn’t know where it was coming from, but he let go of himself and allowed that little voice to take over. “Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he sassed, slowly rising from the couch and gracefully crossing the room to stand chest to chest with his impossible boy.

“What,” Harry deadpanned, sensing the complete shift in Louis’ personality and wondering who the hell he was suddenly talking to. He took a step back, but Louis froze him with a finger jab at his chest and the evident storm behind his oceanic eyes.

“Hadrian, Hadrian, Hadrian,” Louis sighed with exasperation, reaching up and tugging on a fallen strand of the Roman’s curly hair. “Always the hunter, aren’t you?”

“What,” Harry repeated, relaying what just came out of the human’s impossible thought bank and offering no explainable resolution. “What did you just say?”

“I–I couldn’t tell you,” Louis answered, suddenly stumbling around like he’d just come out of a haze. It was the exact same sensation as when he zoned out during _Year Endless_ , and he didn’t know why it was happening, but he knew that its frequency was doubling.

Harry grabbed him before he could potentially fall and sparks ignited the distance between them, making both want to collide like magnets and embrace until the sun came back up. “Do you…do you know who I am, Louis?” the vampire asked to fill the awkward silence, supportively walking Louis back to the couch and gently setting him down on the cushions, taking his own seat on the coffee table in front of him.

Louis thought about everything he knew so far, but the point remained that he didn’t truly know all that much. Not when you take into account Harry being alive since the days of Ancient Rome. All he knew were the occasional facts he’d uncovered, but Harry himself could be anyone. “Not so much _who_ —” he specified open-endedly, taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves before he laid everything out on the table. “—but I think I know _what_.”

“You’ve called me Hadrian multiple times now, and more than anything, I just want to know why. You may know what I am, but I cannot say the same for you. You’re quite impossible yourself. It’s like you know me, but there’s no way you can. You already remind me of someone I used to—”

“Alexander,” Louis finished for him, well aware of who he reminded Harry of, if their first meeting was anything to go by.

“You do, say, and know things you shouldn’t,” Harry growled tiredly, hating how much Alexander’s name had popped up in the last month. “You come here and invade my personal home, looking for clues like a rude little detective, and then when you actually discover what I am, you don’t care. What do you have to say about that?” he demanded, aching to get to the bottom of this Louis anomaly.

“I’d say for an ancient vampire, you really don’t know how to guard your fucking stuff. I mean you really must take me for an utter fool,” he grumbled with a petulant cross of his arms, refusing to meet Harry’s notoriously hypnotic eyes.

The name of his kind out in the open from Louis’ lips was beautiful music to Harry’s ears, but the end of the human’s sentence needed to be addressed before he could be fully content. “What does that mean?” he asked in what he hoped was a comforting and inviting tone. “Because on the contrary, I find you very astute,” he praised genuinely, already hanging on whatever Louis had to say next.

“No, you’re just obvious. If you thought that a curious human wouldn’t take note of identical handwritings accompanied by impossibly aging dates, you thought wrong. Everything in here is a trail of breadcrumbs that leads directly to the secret you keep, and it didn’t take long to figure it out,” Louis huffed in annoyance. He’d felt so proud of himself this entire time, but when he really thought about it, he realized that it wasn’t the sole power of his skillful deduction that outed Harry. It was Harry that outed Harry.

“So why don’t you run? Flee for your life in fear? Why would you choose this place to live in with someone like me slumbering in the basement?” Harry challenged, giving Louis the right verifications to think things all the way through.

“Because I know I can trust you,” Louis explained in an instant, going off of his overwhelmingly strong instincts. Why he had them, he doesn’t know.

“How could you possibly know that?” Harry pressed, riding everything on this particular question because its answer would dictate the dynamic of their future. Whatever Louis said now would irrevocably alter the course of this odd relationship they were building, and he nudged Louis’ arm impatiently when the human took too long to respond.

Louis thought it over many times in his head, but he really didn’t know what the right thing to say was. He felt safe and comfortable with Harry even though everything should be the opposite. How could he explain why when neither of them even had a sliver of a clue?

Eventually he just gave up and decided he would say the next thing that popped into his head, patiently waiting for that certain thing to come out of the blank void. “Because we aren’t done yet,” he declared vaguely, looking to Harry to see if he’d chosen acceptable feedback.

“When will we be done?” Harry asked curiously, tipping his head to the side in wonderment, always fascinated by the unpredictable properties inside Louis’ heart.

“We won’t ever be done,” Louis added bluntly, gazing up into Harry’s eyes and swearing on everything that for just a second, he already _did_ know exactly who he was looking at. “We never were.”

“What a curious response for you to give,” Harry mused with an unreadable glint in his eyes, sending a rush of blood and energy to every inch of Louis’ body under the heat of it.

“Am I right?” Louis asked with as much confidence as he could muster, nevermind the fact that it came out like steam from a boiling teapot.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked dumbly, too lost in the blue of Louis’ eyes to register words and their arbitrary meanings.

“Can I trust you?” Louis enunciated between their mind-numbing eye contact, inevitably giving up and looking away because his weakness was no match for Harry's beauty.

Louis never let Harry out of his peripherals as the vampire pondered, patiently letting him choose the best thing to say. Harry having to think it over at all was a bit disconcerting, but all of Louis’ fears were eradicated when he heard the absolute verdict in Harry’s reply.

“Yes.”

“How do I know?” Louis pressed, admittedly being a tad difficult, but it _is his life_ on the edge of a cliff here. This coveted reassurance was more for the logical section of his mind anyway—the part that still held fear—most of him already knew that Harry could be trusted.

“Gods, you’re impossible,” the vampire groaned, leaning out so that Louis would subconsciously meet his eyes again in interest. “You were the one who said it in the first place,” he reminded, smiling when Louis rounded on him so that they finally faced each other on the couch.

“Put me out of my misery,” Louis huffed, appalled that his reasonable concern had gone unanswered for such a grievously long amount of time. “Can I? Are you going to kill me?” he rushed, glaring at Harry’s cheekbones right beneath his emerald eyes because he couldn’t take that chance.

Harry shook his head in a fond version of exasperation and rolled his neck in a circle over his shoulders, fighting a chuckle the entire time. He reached a slow hand out to let Louis know he could escape if he wanted to, but the little human didn’t, therefore giving Harry the freedom to hold him under his chin. “I’ll only kill you if you want to die. If you live under this roof, you _live_ under this roof, and nothing can ever change that. Not even I, who holds all the most convenient and stupidly accessible resources to do so,” he pledged bluntly, never one for sugarcoating.

“Well…it _sounds_ comforting…” Louis stated with each syllable raising in pitch to adopt a more inquisitive tone.

“Louis, you’re safe here,” Harry interjected before Louis had to keep tripping over his words, willing the human boy to recognize the kind of position he was in, and that if Harry wanted him dead, he would have been dead before that first rag hit the bathroom sink. “I promise. I will never touch you if you don’t want me to,” he swore, leaving the subject terribly open-ended to mess with Louis’ fragile mind.

“Whoa, touching?” Louis choked, once again finding more fascination with a speck on the wall than the golden specks in Harry’s eyes. “Who said anything about touching?”

Harry bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders, amazed he’d held it together for this long under such amusing circumstances. “The point stands. I will protect you from everything—”

“Don’t even finish that,” Louis snapped out of character, giving a small smile in apology before downplaying his outburst. “You can’t protect me from everything,” he lamented with a meek tone, unable to prevent the many examples of why he knew that from floating into his thoughts like slides on a Viewmaster.

The instant that heavy sentence had left Louis’ mouth, Harry suddenly remembered every detail of his warm and heartlessly bruised skin, and when Louis subconsciously wrapped a hand around his upper arm and winced at the pain he was met with, Harry couldn’t help but intervene.  

“Ah, what are you—” Louis protested, cringing under Harry’s rageful glare when the vampire pushed Louis’ sleeve up to his shoulder and uncovered the bruises from today’s swirlie extravaganza.

“People hurt you,” Harry snarled, thumbing over the fresh bruises and thankfully keeping his fangs in his mouth. The very prospect of lowly humans taking advantage of and abusing this specimen of innocence and beauty drilled nails into Harry’s psyche, and he was precariously close to demanding their names so he could wipe them from the planet.

“I’m a punching bag to many. The worst was my Father, though…but that’s over now,” Louis said cheerfully, gesturing around to signify his newfound freedom and diffuse this statically charged tension.

“I have no respect for Fathers who beat their children,” Harry spat hatefully, letting go of Louis’ arm before he gripped it too hard and made everything worse. “No, don’t give me that look, I don’t deserve it—” he added in reference to Louis’ sympathetic facial expression. “—it was my brother.”

“He’s your twi—”

“Who else hurts you?” Harry asked intensely, drowning Louis out before he was coerced into answering questions about his evil twin.

“Just some kids at school, really. Real crummy cats, but it’s all because the football captain is gay. He takes it out on me because I am,” he confessed without a second thought, knowing damn well that Alexander was not a female. “I represent everything the kid hates about himself, and I pay for it almost everyday.”

“Ah, homophobia,” Harry drawled with tired distaste, nothing but sickening disappointment in what the human race had done to itself. Destroying Rome was meant to let humans come together under equal opportunities, but new and even more hateful Empires were brought up in its place. Great thinking, Alexander. “It wasn’t always like that, you know. Once, a love between two of the same gender was revered among society,” he informed to the bitter Louis, wishing the human could have seen the days under discussion.

“Yeah, I know,” Louis sighed to the ceiling, tucking his ankles under his thighs and facing Harry once again with renewed comfortability. “Clearly I’m in the wrong era. Everything just feels wrong anyway… _especially_ here. I’d much rather be in Macedonia,” he said randomly, eliciting the sharpest gasp Harry has made in his honour to date.

“Macedonia?” Harry grunted dangerously slowly, not far from seeking the help of a vampire Elder because he was obviously losing his mind, and he would prove it right now—with Louis correcting him and repeating what he’d actually said.

“Oh, my bad. I don’t really know why that came up, I’ve barely even heard of that place. It just…it felt right,” Louis stammered, backing away from the hypothetical timebomb fumes Harry was radiating from his core.

“It was once called Macedon,” Harry said carefully, valiantly going along with things in spite of his malfunctioning mental stability.

“Macedon,” Louis suddenly snarled with fury, shaking Harry out of his downward spiral in a heartbeat, that pun never happened.

“Louis?” Harry questioned with the smallest of voices, stopping his hand in mid-air centimeters from Louis’ cheek before he made the contact he’d originally shot for.

“Sorry. It’s nothing, I just—” Louis wheezed, doubling over as he grabbed his head in pain, suddenly in the ring with the most excrutiating migraine that history has to offer. He didn’t realize he was wailing until he couldn’t hear Harry’s voiced concern over the sound, but he couldn’t stop—the pain was enormous.

“Louis, what’s wrong?” Harry demanded, unexpectedly thrusted onto the thinnest sheet of ice when Louis’ screaming ceased and he froze like a statue. He took Louis into his arms and tried to shake him out of whatever this was, but he lost all hope when Louis’ head lolled back to showcase two jaded and glossy eyes. “Martin!” he bellowed, looking up to the railing when his butler flew out of his room, already on edge from the human’s tortured cries.

“What’s going on!” Martin shouted, leaping down to the first floor and rushing to his master’s side.

“I don’t know, look at him. What’s happening to him?” Harry demanded at Martin’s flabbergasted face as he karate-chopped Louis in the chest with the tips of his fingers, supposedly to bring unneeded attention to the already blatant focal point of the emergency.

“I’m not sure, don’t look at me,” Martin said truthfully, refusing to take the blame for not knowing how to solve such a mysterious and ambiguous problem. “He’s in no danger of death, but he seems to be trapped in something. He’s having some sort of experience right now, whatever it is…”

 

~~~

 

_“There’s two new religions,” Alexander announced from the fluffy cushions he’d sprawled himself across in wait for Hadrian’s return home._

_“Yeah, I heard that today. What were they called again?” Hadrian wondered as he dropped to the floor and crawled his way up Alexander’s pliant body._

_“Islam and Buddhism,” Alexander recited, arching his back under his lover’s maddening touch._

_“Humans are very creative,” Harry chuckled in-between kisses placed on Alexander’s shivering chest._

_“Whatever gets them through the night,” Alexander moaned, spreading his legs under Harry’s weight because it was obvious where this caressing was going._

_“You mean whatever hypothetically protects them from predators like us?” Harry mused, his wandering hand just under Alexander’s belly button before he was stopped._

_“It shouldn’t be that way, Hadrian,” Alexander huffed, propping himself up on his elbows and shooting the Roman with an iconic glare. “You still look so far down on them—all because you’re jealous of them. Yes, Hadrian, yes you are,” he pressed when Hadrian rolled his eyes and scoffed in disagreement. “You only drink from them so you can have a fulfilling taste at what they have, and what you don’t—life.”_

_“Alex—”_

_“I ensured that I did not represent a threat in the darkness of night. A predator of the shadows. I had done this well, and then you came along,” he spat, shoving the regretful Roman off him and sitting up in a fit._

_“Alex, save the dramatics,” Hadrian groaned, flipping over onto his back and rubbing his eyes in irritation. Apparently there would be no sex tonight. “We don’t even kill them most of the time. Besides, you don’t know how irresistible you are with bloodlust in your eyes. Tis the most arousing sight these eyes have ever beheld, and there be nothing else quite like it. Alexander the Predator. Even as I am without life in my body, that look makes my cock twitch,” he taunted darkly, chancing a suggestive caress on Alexander’s inner thigh._

_Alexander tried with all his might to hold onto his anger because it was rightfully placed, but Hadrian spoke to him in a language that ensnares the senses with every syllable, and no matter how mad he sometimes became, nothing could keep him away for long. “My sadistic love,” he murmured with a pleasured sigh, looking over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow at Hadrian’s hopeful expression. “You are a terrible problem.”_

_“Ah, but you’re my solution. Now, drink this,” Hadrian instructed, passing a goblet over that Alexander had been saving for when Hadrian came back from his nightly murderous stroll._

_Alexander shook his head and took the cup, drinking the earth-shattering liquid and closing his eyes to take in the rush of euphoria, only opening them when Hadrian made it known he was now on his knees in-between Alexander’s thighs, smirking at him with that Godlike face of his._

_“Huh…and you say I’M the irresistible one,” Alexander giggled, gasping when Hadrian nuzzled his face into his crotch and coaxed his cock to its full hardness._

_“Of that, I believe we’re both guilty,” the Roman whispered, pushing Alexander to lie down with one hand in the center of his chest._

_“Well, will you merely rub it like a cat, or are you going to suck me back to death, my King?” Alexander challenged, flipping the tables of control because he needed what he wanted more than he wanted what he needed—figure that one out._

_Hadrian got his lover’s cock out without a second’s more delay, licking a broad stripe up the shaft and revelling in Alexander’s highly anticipated squeak of pleasure. “Right away, my King.”_

 

~~~

 

Louis shot out of whatever the fuck just happened like a cannon, rapidly looking between Harry and his evident butler in delirious confusion.

“Louis!” Harry breathed, taking ahold of his face and checking to make sure he was really back. “What happened?” he asked, Martin standing on his tiptoes just beyond the coffee table.

“I…” Louis rasped as he recalled the vision he’d been pulled into, staring into the face of Hadrian just as he had through the perspective of Alexander. “How _dare_ you tell me to save the dramatics, you sadistic demon. I still never got back at you…for…that…” he trailed, promptly losing actual consciousness and sagging back into Harry’s chest.

“What?” Martin asked, scratching at his head because those were not the first words you would expect to hear out of such a vacant state.

Harry was left without appropriate movements to make or words to speak in the face of what he’d just heard. The longer he stared at Louis’ sleeping face, the more he saw Alexander. The more Louis spoke to him, the more he started to hear tones and inflections of his old love. There was nothing that would never explain some aspects of Louis’ behavior and actions, but Harry vowed never to let him go. Not because he reminded him of Alexander, though that was a nice benefit, but because whatever or whomever Louis happened to be, he was astoundingly special and precious to Harry.

“Master?” Martin addressed warily, quickly leaning back when Harry stood with the human in his arms and turned to face Martin, unintentionally swinging Louis’ legs as he did so.

“I’m taking him to his room. I’ll be down here in a short while, please have a standard amount of blood ready for me. I really do request this with the utmost dire desper—”

“Never fear, my Lord. I’m on it,” Martin said quickly, dashing out of the living room to ransack the fridge for the newest and best quality of blood bags.

Harry carried Louis up the stairs so gracefully that the human would never realize he was being moved, and gently laid him down in the uncomfortable bed he was cursed with. He’d tell Martin to purchase a new one when he went downstairs, but for now, all he could do was gander at the human and wonder how he got so lucky. Not only did he have excitement and distracting fun back in his overplayed life, but Louis himself was so much more than that.

He was someone who knew of Harry’s true identity and didn’t shy away like practically everyone else would have. Someone who cared enough to investigate Harry’s home and life and _not_ steal valuable objects out of it like everyone else had attempted to. Someone to give Harry another reason to exist one more day, something that made Harry begin to resent the desire for death he’d had for the last four centuries. Harry no longer wished for everything to end, because Louis was here now, and he needed protecting. He needed the love he couldn't seem to acquire anywhere else, and if Louis would let him, Harry would provide that tenfold.

 _You just have to ask,_ he thought to the boy below him, bending over to press his cold lips to his temple. _Ask and I’m yours forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't edit this as much as I wanted, but I don't have the opportunity to, really. There's one confusing part I think, and that's just the fact that Louis found a shortcut to another court-type street that Niall dropped him off at. Like...there's two ways to easily get to the mansion. The dirt path that leads to the gate from some other street. And that sideways way that you gotta run down the hill and you come up on the mansion's side. i hope it fucking makes enough sense, I'm about to go die. Thanks for giving me a reason to keep going xD


	8. Beatings Lead To Feedings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest. Chapter. Ever. I'm not in pain, so I better do this now.  
> Some sexy times for you guys.  
> Some explanations of Harry's kind. Another flashback. Louis is so confusingly intertwined.
> 
> !! Thoughtyouknewr, Latin student of mine, check your damn inbox !! And reread the Iliad note. Help.

Louis shivered as he took a seat on the sidewalk—partly due to his still-drying hair in the cold air, and partly from general nerves—waiting outside of the forest for Niall to pick him up. He’d walked to the road a little early, but he needed the time to think, and he had to get some fresh air that didn’t smell like that mansion. He had flashes of what he believed to be how things went down, but there’s no proof that those things really happened. He’d have to ask Harry tonight when the vampire woke from his daytime slumber, and he had little desire to do anything of the sort.

Was last night a dream, or was it real? Did Louis really have a vision in Harry’s presence and pass out on the couch, thereafter waking up in his bed with a splitting headache and an odd taste in his mouth? _Or_ had the entire thing been a product of his overactive imagination in dreamland? The experience had elements of both possibilities twisted up in it, and both were credible.

All Louis knew was that the glimpse into the past he’d been slapped with was absolutely undoubtedly real. He wasn’t _that_ imaginative. Was this going to be happening all the time, though? Was Louis honestly expected to pass out from unexplainable visions several times a week?

Every time Louis closed his eyes, he saw Hadrian in his full Roman attire smiling up at him from in-between his legs, but that was the problem; they weren’t _his_ legs, they were Alexander’s. The fierce jealousy curdling in his soul was unprecedentedly volatile, but Louis doesn’t think it’s that unreasonable. He’d been jealous of Alexander since he’d read that first journal entry, he just hadn’t known at the time how that feeling would grow and extend to cover every inch of his negative emotions.

Imagine yourself in his position; you’ve just found the man of your absolute dreams, regardless of the fact that he’s an ancient vampire who could kill you like a mosquito, he's perfect. Then, while you’re minding your own happy business trying to keep his past love that you’ve been privy to out of your thoughts, you are struck with a vision from that certain lover’s perspective and forced to watch their romantic history together when it’s not and probably won’t ever be your present. You’d be angrily breaking twigs and throwing pebbles in the freezing cold too.

Louis was so lost in his downward spiral of bitterness that he didn’t notice Niall had pulled up until the blonde rolled down his passenger window and shouted out of the truck for his attention. “Shit,” Louis cursed, scrambling off the curb and leaping into Niall’s truck when the door was swung open for him. “Sorry about that, I was a little out of it.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Niall scolded without heat, making room on his messy floor for Louis to set his bag down.

Louis reached over his arm and turned the radio on, using the sounds of Ziggy Stardust to take him out of his body and mind for a while. He was just telling his nonexistent audience that Ziggy could “lick them by smiling” when Niall turned the song down to fill the air with his voice instead.

“Niall, how dare—”

“Are you going to tell me why you look like a scared cat right now?” Niall asked, sighing when Louis turned the music back up.

Louis heard the phrase “well hung and snow-white tan,” and couldn’t conjure anything else in his mind to fit that description other than Harry—not even Bowie himself. The more he thought about Harry’s body, the more he turned the song back down, realizing he probably wasn’t ready for that kind of truth yet. “Alright,” he relented when his voice could be heard over his musical God’s. “I had a weird night last night, that’s what.”

“Yeah, I figured, but what does that mean? Do you wanna talk about it?” Niall asked, spending an unsafe amount of time staring at Louis instead of the road.

“No, I wouldn’t even know where to start. I shouldn’t have said anything at all, I’m totally fine,” Louis said, gazing out the window because he couldn’t meet Niall’s eyes after the gigantic lie he just told.

As fate would have it, Niall was not convinced. “Look, it’s not like you’re not obvious as hell. I’m really not being a pest when you can barely hold a normal conversation. Don’t be like that, okay? If you wanna talk, I wanna listen. You know I’d never judge you.”

Louis laughed at the ignorance of that statement; just because Niall wholeheartedly believed what he said did not mean that judgments wouldn’t be made once the truth was blasted out in the open. “I know, Niall,” he settled on, throwing in a condescending shoulder pat to the curious blonde.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?” Niall urged knowingly, his stomach tightening from the guilt of inquiring such a personal topic.

“Yeah, but it’s nothing he did,” Louis rushed to extrapolate, compelled to evade Niall’s subsequent paranoia that Harry was beating Louis senseless every night.

“Just who he is?” Niall continued, exhaling a subtle breath of relief because Harry could be a lot worse.

“Sure,” Louis replied unhelpfully, wishing that his best friend would stop prying into this situation that ran so much deeper than he could ever imagine. “Stop asking things, I’m not ready for this conversation,” he added, squeezing his eyes shut because that was way too suspicious of a statement.

It was clear as day that Louis was hiding his entire life, but Niall didn’t want to lose his closest comrade because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, so he bit his tongue and gave up once again while he still could. “Alright...but are you safe, Lou?” he stressed, Louis’ protection and happiness always reigning at the top of the priority list.

“More than any other place on this Earth,” Louis assured instantly, digging himself a deeper grave than he’s worth. You can start inscribing his tombstone now.

“That’s intense,” Niall noted slowly, steering himself off the tempting course of asking more questions (demanding more explanations). “What makes you say that?” he blurted. Well shit.

“I just don’t think there’s an adversary in this whole entire world that Harry couldn’t overpower,” Louis mused with a fond smirk, drowning in his lethal attraction to everything the vampire was.

“Sounds dangerous if you ask me. Like if he lost sight of his priorities and like turned on you or something,” Niall scolded carefully. It wasn’t that he wanted to squash every blip of happiness that Louis had, but he’s seen too many bad things happen to him, and he couldn’t bear it if this was only another instance to add to the painful list.

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?” Niall asked, taken aback by the positive verdict in Louis’ tone.

“Because I can control him. I’m the only creature that ever could. My love’s waited long enough in the darkness, he wouldn’t turn from the light now,” Louis declared, confusing both of them to the exact same degree. The words had come out of Louis’ mouth before he’d even begun to prepare a response, and though he’d experienced this occurrence a few times now, he wasn’t anticipating it to happen in front of Niall. _What the fuck did I just say?_

“What the fuck does that mean?” Niall countered, unable to help this reply because what had come out of Louis’ mouth had been beyond perplexing.

“What?” Louis squeaked, clearing his throat as he came all the way back into himself. Neither of them would be forgetting those statements any time soon, he just hoped the blonde would at least pretend to in his presence. “Niall, stop talking,” he begged, quickly hurdling toward his rare breaking point. “I told you I wasn’t ready.”

“Alright,” Niall choked as he held back the words of protest, swallowing all of his curiosity and forcing all of his instincts to leave it alone. “But I’m not giving up forever,” he warned realistically, purposefully giving Louis the knowledge that he expected an answer at some point.

Louis smirked at the pine trees as they flew by, gracing Niall with a cheeky wink and turning the music back up to officially kill the intolerable conversation. “You wouldn’t be Niall if you did,” he muttered under his breath, laughing along with Niall’s responding giggle.

Their laughter faded out after a few moments and both stared at their respective objectives, with Niall’s eyes on the right lane of traffic and Louis’ on the backs of his eyelids. They drove all the way to school in that tense peace, and Louis really didn’t want sit through his monotonous classes, but he didn’t necessarily want to remain in this truck either.

 

\---

 

The second they pulled in to the school’s parking lot, Louis’ stomach sank to the bottoms of his feet. He had forgotten all about the concert being tonight, and all at once he was on the brink of a panic attack. “The concert! Shit, I can’t do this, Niall. Take me back,” he whined, glaring at the student-made signs like they were each individually laughing at him.

“Louis, your song is amazing, and you ace it every time. I don’t know why you’re so jumpy,” Niall soothed, giving Louis long pets on the back like he would if Louis were an antsy cat.  

“I just didn’t prepare at all last night! I should have used my time wisely, but then that…thing happened, and I’m a deer in headlights, and—”

“Louis, I swear to you,” Niall stressed, forcing Louis to face him with a sharp grip on his shoulder. “You are going to be amazing, okay? Now go to class, the bell’s about to ring.”

“Whatever you say,” Louis sassed, hopping out of the truck and shuffling his way toward the building where he could get publicly humiliated in just ten hours. He said his nervous goodbyes to his only lifeline among the faceless students and made his feet take him to his first class. He could already tell that his anxiety would reign supreme today over every other mindset he could have, he just hoped his tension could be relieved by the time he had to sit on that piano stool.

“Late,” Mr. Baker called without looking, snapping one of Louis’ nerves like a twig, but it’s not like that was a difficult thing to do right now.

“Sorry,” he mumbled lowly, collapsing into his desk and trying to ignore the looks of unreadable expressions that were thrown to him. People looking could be concerned, amused, disgusted, condescending, it didn’t matter to Louis. Any pair of eyes that weren’t Harry’s didn’t belong on his face, but today was a really bad day to care about that, considering he’d be on display for _every_ pair of eyes in this establishment tonight.

_Help me._

 

\---

 

“Louis, why are you looking at Troy like that? It’s almost like you’re trying to goad him,” Niall said warily, glancing behind him to connect Louis’ death glare to the wonky-eyed Troy.

“I could have that cowardly rat on his knees begging for mercy in the span of a second if he would just approach me like the gullible dog he is,” Louis growled, only breaking his heated eye contact when Niall scooted over and completely blocked his vision.

“Are you insane?” Niall whisper-shouted, snapping his fingers until he was sure Louis’ eyes refocused on him. “I think you may have actually gone totally bonkers. Are you hearing yourself right now? Not only can you absolutely _not_ overpower Troy, but if you keep looking at him like that, he’s gonna cream you. You might die this time, so stop,” he pleaded, beyond confused at where this miraculously fearless side of Louis stemmed from.

“You _dare_ challenge my power?” Louis sneered into the blonde’s face, standing from the bench and bellowing his voice over the heads of the feasting students to make his position widely known. “Avert your eyes if you shan't hither and attack right here and now!” he shouted straight to Troy, who subtly slunk down into his chair but otherwise held his ground. “Face me on the battlefield like a man, and I might spare your—”

“Louis!” Niall barked, getting a good fistful of Louis’ wool sweatshirt and dragging him out of the cafeteria before he could damn himself even more. “You truly are out of your goddamn mind, what the fuck was that, huh? And why are you talking so weird, _God_ , you’ve been _so_ weird lately, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Niall exasperated, spinning himself in a crazed circle he was so worked up.

“What? I cannot in well conscience bestow respected credit to a measly rawgabbit groking at me from tables yonder. ‘Tis meaningless trumpery, and I will defend my honour to the last—”

“Would you stop talking like a psychopath from the days of Shakespeare, please? Snap out of it!” Niall begged, shaking Louis like an Etch-a-Sketch and greatly pissing him off in the process.

“What is the meaning of this, you ultracrepidarian? I’m merely jargogled at that cockalorum snollygoster’s hugger-mugger fudgeling—”

“WHAT?!” Niall shrieked, decking Louis in the face as hard as he physically could to jar him out of his literal stroke.

Louis doubled back and clutched his cheek, balancing himself against the brick wall and groaning tiredly. “Niall? What the fuck are you doing?” he croaked, gingerly poking at his reddened face and connecting the dots. “Did you just hit me?”

“What do you _mean_?” Niall rasped breathlessly, pausing because there was nowhere to go in conversation after this.

“What just happened?” Louis asked in clear puzzlement, looking around at his surroundings and continuing to assess his facial injury.

“You’re sick, that’s what happened. You’ve got some kind of mental disorder, and you should probably be in a fucking bin for it,” he snarled, calming himself down quick when Louis’ eyes filled with distraught tears. “Louis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean all that, I just…are you gonna talk to me yet?”

“I–I d–don’t know wh–what to s–say,” Louis stuttered through his sniffly crying, irresistible to Niall’s instant embrace.

“Just tell me what happened after you got kicked out,” Niall urged, delighted under the serious circumstances that he would at least get the truth out now.

“I can’t,” Louis whispered, whining when Niall’s arms evaporated like fog. “Niall—”

“No, Lou. I can’t right now. Cannot _will not_ do this anymore. Until you tell me what’s going on, I don’t want to put up with your bullshit. It’s getting too fucking weird, and I’m out of my depth…not to mention apparently not important enough for you to trust me with your stupid little secrets. Come to me when you wanna talk, otherwise leave me alone,” he said behind a wall of complacency, when really all he wanted to do was join the crying.

“Niall, please—”

“Save it, Louis. You know where to find me,” Niall finalized with a brutal departure from Louis’ upset self, walking into the distance and unintentionally taking Louis’ minuscule batch of sanity with him.

“Damnit,” Louis cursed, hugging himself around the chest and running to his fifth class where he could get some peace and quiet before lunch was over. He had no memory of whatever had just happened, but if it was bad enough for Niall to call it quits, then Louis probably deserved it. Niall has put up with every annoying habit, tendency, and mannerism that Louis has without fail for almost four years, so this was a catastrophe. If only he fucking knew what the issue was.

 

\---

 

“Hey, Mr. Carey,” Louis somberly called as he walked into the class first as usual. His fifth period class was right next to the music wing, and Mr. Carey’s free period was coincidentally fifth, so it was common practice that Louis would be the first student in the room for sixth.

“Louis, you look down again today,” Mr. Carey noted, continuing to write on the board while he studied Louis’ posture and expression, not noticing that his writing had started to make a rather sad-looking downward slant.

“So does your sentence,” Louis mentioned, figuring that was the cheekiest way to alert his teacher of his chalkboard mishap.

“Oh,” Mr. Carey laughed, erasing the words and starting again. “Do you wanna talk about it? You know the drill, we’ve got thirty seconds.”

“I wish I knew what to say,” Louis admitted, laying his chin down on his hands and heaving a sigh past his shaky throat. He was still actively trying not to cry, so his body was reactively clenched all over.

“Well, you know you can,” Mr. Carey reminded, finishing his sentence with a theatrical loop on the last letter, and leaning forward over his desk to stare Louis down with concern.

“My best friend doesn’t like my boyfriend, or how I’ve been acting now that I’m in a relationship,” Louis informed dishonestly, painting the whole situation with the broadest brush he could find because no matter how unheard of the specifics were, that was essentially what was going on here.

“And how is it that you have been acting?” Mr. Carey pressed, clearing his throat when a group of students came bustling in through the door.

Mr. Carey shot Louis an apologetic look that translated to ‘later,’ but in truth, Louis was relieved to be interrupted. He didn’t want to think about anything but his upcoming performance, and that nightmare _not_ being the scariest thing in Louis’ life at the moment should really tell you something.

 

\---

 

“Okay, guys! Remember to come back at six for the concert, and afterward you should all be thinking about what you want your Musician of Time paper to be about because starting today, you have two weeks to finish it. See everyone tonight, drive safe!” Mr. Carey recited to a class full of uninterested students, shrugging it off like dirt on his shoulders when nobody gave a peep of recognition. He tries his best.

Louis stayed in his seat as his classmates filtered out, well aware he wouldn’t find Niall waiting for him by the bike racks, and that he had nowhere to go until the concert.

Mr. Carey said goodbye to the last student and shut his door tiredly, turning around and clasping his hands together to engage the forlorn Louis. “So. Louis. Where were we?” he asked, scurrying to his desk to organize all the papers scattered across it.

Louis hadn’t expected Mr. Carey to just forget about their earlier conversation, but there had still been a small part of him that had hoped he would. “I guess I’m a recluse,” he supplied, flinging his legs up on top of his desk because he could after hours.

“And do you think you’re a recluse?”

“No, not really. I’m still here every day, aren’t I? I think Niall is just jealous,” he sneered, taking the offensive route because he didn’t want to admit his own behavior actually did play the lead role in his best friend’s abandonment.

“He might be,” Mr. Carey agreed, calling it quits with his papers and giving his all to the conversation. “I still have trouble finding dates as a gay man, and I’m thirty seven,” he admitted solemnly, getting temporarily lost in his personal loneliness.

“But am I supposed to give up my relationship to keep my best friend happy?” Louis argued logically, leaning his neck back and crossing his arms over his face.

“No, absolutely not,” the teacher automatically stressed, busying himself once again with his messy papers because he had the attention span of a goldfish. “I think both sides are understandable ones to be upset about, it’s not an easy subject to come to terms on, especially when one is happy and the other is not.”

“I wouldn’t call _this_ happy,” Louis said in regards to his emotional state, giving a broad gesture to his body to demonstrate his point.

“Maybe not about Niall, but are you happy with the boy?”

Louis thought it over and stared hard at the speckled ceiling tiles, trying to formulate the right words that somewhat accurately depicted his impossible circumstance. “It seems like there are a lot of barriers. There’re things in the way, and I can’t tell how separating they really are quite yet. I have this innate instinct that everything will work out okay in the end, but I’ll admit that sometimes I don’t feel…I don’t feel exactly like myself when I’m with him…but also more myself than I’ve ever been. Does that make any sense?” he groaned to his teacher, willing to try again if Mr. Carey bended into a giant question mark.

“I think what you’re saying is he changes certain parts of you and makes you feel and act ways that you’ve never caught yourself experiencing and doing before?” Mr. Carey guessed decently well for the small amount of information he was given to work with. 

“Kind of,” Louis sighed, holding a hand just above his collarbones and feeling around his neck casually while a buttload of not-so-casual thoughts crept into his mind. “He’s different than anything on this planet, and I know that for a fact. So different that I don’t even know if we’re truly compatible.”

“Different interests?”

“You could say that,” Louis chuckled as he leaned even further back, raising an eyebrow to the cellos behind him so Mr. Carey wouldn’t see, and keeping his signature smirk locked inside. Once he was confident he could control himself, he let the chair swing him back down to an upright position and met his teacher’s eyes neutrally. “Different backgrounds, histories, schedules, priorities, experiences…you could almost say we’re two different species.”

“Well as the saying goes, opposites do attract, you know,” Mr. Carey reminded, a few examples of his own popping up in which his past partners had lived in completely opposite universes from his, but they’d still managed to work it out—for a while, at least. 

“Sometimes it’s too opposite, maybe,” Louis chucked emotionlessly, absentmindedly fixing his hair while he envisioned where the course of Harry would take him. So far it could be love, an unrequited one, or death. Two against one in probability if you ask him—the glass was definitely half-empty.

“I think you have to go for it anyway and find out what finish line the relationship leads to,” Mr. Carey said wisely, leaning against the piano and giving it an encouraging pat. “I don’t think any two people match completely perfectly, or there would be no growth. Sometimes the beauty and strength in relationships comes from settling differences and working together to form a blahblahblah, come here, practice _Year Endless_ ,” he finished with a laugh, furiously slapping the piano like an excited child.

“Oh, alright,” Louis sighed fondly, standing from his desk and skipping down the wide, bleacher-like stair design of the music room to slide his way onto the piano chair. He fully understood the point Mr. Carey was trying to make, and also understood why the teacher had veered off and switched the topic. It truly was something Louis had to figure out for himself…he only hoped that Harry would be just as enthusiastic to mold their polar-opposite personalities together into one singular unit.

Louis decided he would say something to Harry tonight when he saw him. Whether the performance went amazingly, or he got tomatoes thrown at his face, he would offer himself to Harry and see what happened. Life is too short for wasting time—especially human life—and Louis hated waiting anyway.

 

\---

 

Louis had spent a good hour in the classroom with the silently reading Mr. Carey, only getting tiny notes and suggestions here and there after every four runs or so. He felt pretty confident about his chances for success tonight, and he actually remembered what he did this time, so his spirits were in the clouds.

Once it was four o’clock, they had to make the journey to the auditorium together and suddenly everything felt more real, but he would not shy away. Since he had nowhere to go before six, he had put himself up for the management crew to prepare the room for the concert: set snacks out, hang streamers up, order the setlist and instruments backstage, that sort of thing.

It was helpful work to take his mind off things he didn’t want to dwell on, and he was having so much fun being distracted, that he didn’t notice when the clock struck five thirty. That signified the imminence of the doors opening to let the audience file in like they were on a conveyer belt, and Louis’ stomach did that flippy thing again just as Mr. Carey sought him out to give comfort.

“Hey, hey,” the teacher soothed, taking his prodigy into his arms because nobody was watching and it wasn’t weird, trust him. “Louis, you’re gonna be great. I’m gonna be right in the left wing the whole time, okay? If you get even a little bit squeamish, you look over, and I’ll be right there.”

“If I get a little bit squeamish?” Louis squeaked in incredulous disbelief, gripping at his tummy and whining into the back curtain. “I’m already a damn mess.”

“When do you come on?” Mr. Carey asked, peering down in the dark at the clipboard in Louis’ hands.

“I’m basically last,” Louis informed with a helpful point to the bottom of the names, revealing only two performers after him. That meant he had a lot of time to get himself together, not to mention an intermission to get some fresh air if he needed it, but it still felt way too soon.

The actual clipboard user came and thanked Louis for holding it while he whisked it away to get everyone in the first act ready because the doors had just opened, and Louis practiced over-the-top breathing exercises like he was pregnant and in labor.

“Just come sit down over here, you’ve got loads of time,” Mr. Carey suggested, physically walking Louis to a storage hallway backstage where he could have some space.

“I’m not really worried about my playing,” Louis said before taking a huge gulp of a water bottle that wasn’t his he’d found on the ground. Still cold, so whatever. “It’s just that this school fucking hates me, and sixth period was one thing, but this is the entire senior class. It might not matter how good I am, they might still boo because of the gender I love, and I just…” he trailed, hitting the back of his head against the wall and closing his shifty eyes.

“If they even dare, I’ll be there for you. I’ll give every single one of them detention, I’ll call all of their parents, don’t worry. Plus, I really don’t think they will. Anyone that knows what talent is will see that in you. It might actually change a lot of their opinions about you,” Mr. Carey theorized, checking his watch for the time. “Alright, we’ve got twenty-five minutes, use it to meditate. Visualize the song, every single note,” he instructed, pulling up two chairs and scooting one over to Louis to relax on.

 

\---

 

Louis stood in the wings as he watched the person before him finish their violin solo. The theatre, choir, and dance kids had gone first, leaving the musical bunch after the intermission, and Louis had done enough mental preparations for years to come—it was now or never. He looked once over his shoulder to meet the prideful eyes of Mr. Carey, smiling because whether he wanted it to be or not, the teacher’s excitement was dangerously contagious.

“Up next we have a very cultured little pianist—”

“Hmph, _little_ ,” Louis muttered, holding onto his indignation because if he didn't, it could backslide into anxiety.

“—who has showcased a truly fantastic work for his class and won the nomination by a landslide—”

 _You haven’t even heard it,_ Louis mentally chided to the superficial announcer, cringing at the overly peppy tones and scales of his voice.

“—I think you’re all in for a real treat with this student, so without further ado, let’s welcome to the stage our very own Louis Tomlinson!” he shouted, likely sweating under the lack of applause he received.

Louis straightened his spine and strutted across the stage like he owned the place, doing everything in his power to pointedly ignore the silence of the room. He chanced a look at the stoic faces of his classmates and glared some of them down, reaching his piano and taking a seat as he eyed the keys for guidance. He knew he just had to let go and let his hands do their job, but something was blocking him and he didn’t know what.

He looked over his shoulder to the left wing and found Mr. Carey with his houndstooth scarf and big square glasses, interlocking his fingers under his chin and shooting rays of sunshine to Louis with his smile. Coincidentally, that was all the encouragement and support that Louis needed to go forth and do what he needed to, and he placed his fingers on the keys and closed his eyes.

He began the piece the same way he’d been playing every session lately: a simple canon sequence of three notes in a waltz rhythm, each individual set raising in pitch with every key and repeating twice. He paused for a moment to hold everyone in suspense and then moved down the piano to lower the octave and add his left hand. The speed of the piece picked up as usual as he went on until the last waltz stanza was done, then shifting the entire piece into his personal rendition of Harry’s _Year Endless_.

The beginning elements were mostly the same in their petit allegro intensity, but Louis added his twists wherever he saw fit, and wherever they would work. He realized as he was playing that he hadn’t ever played the song quite like this before, and he was stunned that he could magically pull something new out of his ass every time he tried it.

It didn’t take much pondering on the subject to uncover why _Year Endless_ came so naturally to him, because as soon as he gave himself over to the song, every little detail became crystal clear—Hadrian had written this specifically for him. His love had written most of his music for him, but this one in particular was a blatant call to arms. An “I need you, come back to me. Return to my side and stay forever, but if for nothing else, come back and finish this song,” and Alexander understood everything now. He thought back to their ‘first meeting’ in the mansion and wondered why he hadn’t ever realized the truth before, but now was not the time.

He expertly slammed and smashed his way through his old lover’s hopeful song, doing Hadrian great justice as he threw his whole body into the motions and brought its basic simplicity to a complex and mastered work of art. Hadrian may have acceptable foundations for creation, but he’d be fooling himself if he thought this piece stood a chance without Alexander’s own tweaked interference.

He chuckled as the song was nearing the end of its loudest crescendo, wishing that Hadrian could be here to watch him surpass one more project of the Roman’s to match everything else. The song came to its dramatic end and he shoved himself off the piano, letting the notes draw themselves out and fade into the deafening silence of the audience. _Well?_ he thought to the humans, raising an eyebrow at their stunned expressions.

Louis jolted back into awareness to find that he was stood beside the piano and looking out over a room of thunderous applause. He gasped and whipped his head to Mr. Carey, smiling at the man who was going absolutely bonkers in the wings with joy. He turned back to the hollering students and gave a nervous bow, waving a bit at the faces he could make out in the heavy lighting.

All the acclaim got overwhelming to be the target of, and he side-stepped his way off stage, blowing a gracious kiss because he deserved to feel like an actual Princess at this school at least once. He ran straight into Mr. Carey’s arms and let himself be spun around just so he didn’t have to shoulder the weight of gravity.

“Let’s hear it again for Louis Tomlinson!” Louis heard the brown-nosing class president call to the audience, eliciting an encore-type approbation.

“They really liked it,” Louis breathed in shock, stumbling for balance when his music teacher put him back on his own two feet.

“Of course they did!” Mr. Carey declared passionately, crushing the boy in his arms again because it was always refreshing when the underdog got the positive attention they deserved. “They liked it, and they liked _you_.”

Louis sat through the last two songs in a daze. He just couldn’t believe that he’d gotten the same adoring reaction as the classroom performance audience had given. At the time, he’d thought that was as good as it would ever get—but clearly he’d been mistaken.

He returned to the stage for a painfully unrehearsed round of bows, wherein everyone just grabbed the closest hand they could find and prayed that they were forming a straight line. The audience stood from their seats and cheered their approval of the concert, and Louis couldn’t help but feel like they were all claps for him.

The performers escaped backstage to go greet their families and get handed bouquets of flowers, but Louis had no people of the sort to rush out and see, so he took his time cleaning up the food wrappers that the spectators had left behind like a pack of wild monkeys. When the floor was trashless, he wandered backstage in search for Mr. Carey, but the man was nowhere to be seen. _Huh._

Figuring the teacher probably left early for exhaustion reasons, Louis collected his bag and headed out the back door, only expecting to be met with cold and windy air, but fate had more in store for him.

“Hey, Mozart Faggot.”

 

\---

 

Louis expertly held the gasp of surprise inside himself because why should his attackers get to revel in how scared he was? This time Troy, Jesse, Michael, and Dante made up the group of bandits, and the odds weren’t great for any manner of tactful evasion. “Not tonight, Troy,” Louis sighed in defeat, making a valiant attempt to walk past them and resume living his life in peace.

“Not so fast, Bach Buttmuncher,” Dante snickered, catching Louis by his upper arms and holding him against his chest while he smirked down at his alert and fearful face.

It didn’t help Louis that most of the football team members were exceptionally attractive chumps, except for Blake, and the bastards knew how foxy they were. It left Louis at a terrible disadvantage, for beauty is a highly effective distraction. “I’m honestly surprised any of you know who Bach or Mozart even are,” he jeered with courageous dignity, accepting any and all consequences for his foolish outburst.

“You don’t get to decide which night you get the fist, faggot,” Troy taunted expectedly and repetitively, boring and terrifying Louis all at once.

Louis was just about to reply with his best and most cutting snark when the first kick was pelted into his side, knocking him down to the ground as Dante let go of his arms at the perfect time. He didn’t have a chance to get up or even guard his stomach when more kicks began obliterating it, but he wasn’t done trying yet.

 

\---

 

Five unsuccessful and brutal minutes later, Louis was done. Utterly, wholly, and completely done. The blood that had flown out of his mouth from the constant punches had run down his neck and he probably looked like Harry’s wet dream, but he couldn’t care about that at the moment. His arms were scratched and bleeding from rolling around and struggling on the pavement to defend himself, and yes, every attempted parry had been in vain.

Louis had tried so hard to deflect even one of the blows that came barreling his way, but the team members were stronger, faster, and higher in numbers than Louis was. Realistically, he never stood a chance.

“Did you hear me?” Troy apparently repeated, gripping Louis’ hair and forcing his head up.

“Agh, _what_ ,” Louis spat, actually spitting out blood in the process.

“I said nothing can save you. I don’t care how talented you are, how much the school adores you, you’ll never be anything but a disgusting freak of nature to me, and I will never accept you,” he spoke into Louis’ vulnerable eyes, probably trying to hit some kind of nerve, but it was far too late for that.

“Copy that, you shit stain,” Louis growled, welcoming the ground he was shoved back down onto, thankful to be out of the captain’s greasy clutches.

“Come on, let’s go,” Troy called to his goons, walking away last and looking over his shoulder at Louis for the entire duration of his villainous retreat.

Louis just glared back to assert some sliver of nonexistent dominance, grunting every few beats because holding his head off the ground caused an overload of sharp pinching sensations at his left shoulder blade. The modern-day demons turned the corner to finally exit the scene, and Louis lied still in the dark for as long as he damn well needed to; there wasn’t much he could do but try and restore energy for the walk to the mansion, and he was well aware that walk would be absolute hell. This was not going to be pleasant.

He inched his fingers out to grasp his bag and drag it into his side, and that act alone was substantially painful, so he was truly fucked. He used the bag to push himself up onto his butt, and took deep breaths to asses the condition of his ribs. They didn’t seem to be broken, and all other tested limbs bent the way they were supposed to, so the only thing Louis could say is things could be worse.

He rose with quivering thigh muscles to stand on his feet and gingerly loop his backpack over his favoured shoulder, checking the ground for any potential escaped papers. Only trash and dark splotches—probably his blood—littered the asphalt, so he pivoted like a statue and put one foot in front of the other to begin his journey.

If only he hadn’t been so weird in front of Niall, or whatever happened, because then he could have had a ride home and probably wouldn’t have been beaten to a pulp after the show. He refused to blame Niall for this happening to him, but of course he held a small amount of pettiness over the situation.

Louis was almost past the school parking lot when a car screeched to a stop beside him and a window squealed as it was rolled down as rapidly as the crank would permit. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his arms up in front of his face to block the various food or beverage products that might be hurled at him.

“Louis!” he heard a voice call, replacing every feeling of trepidation with gravity-intensifying relief.

“Mr. Carey,” he croaked, staying rooted to his spot and committing to hide his face away from the teacher’s view.

“Look at me,” Mr. Carey pressed annoyingly, having unlocked his seatbelt to practically hang out of his window.

Louis sniffed away his tears and turned his face to his music teacher, a little sob escaping his lips after hearing Mr. Carey’s sympathetic gasp. There was only so much denial Louis could insist upon himself before something would break into the deeper layers of his psyche and ruin him.

“Oh, Louis, come here. Get in,” the teacher whined sadly, flying across his seats to unlock the passenger door.

Louis thought it over extensively, but there was no scenario he could envision wherein walking all the way to the mansion had benefits of any kind. He carefully wiped his nose with his sleeve and walked around the back of Mr. Carey’s matte-grey 1970 AMC Gremlin, sighing as his legs were temporarily warmed by the fumes of the muffler. He waddled his way to the door and gave it a firm tug, but his muscles may as well be made of gelatin under the circumstances. Mr. Carey noticed the struggle and opened it for him, sliding back so Louis would have room to enter.

“I feel like I don’t have to ask, but are you okay, Louis?” Mr. Carey asked as Louis inched his way down onto the seat, languidly slipping his backpack off his shoulder and lowering it to the floor of the car.

“I’m…I’ve…been better,” Louis settled on, shivering in the shocking warmth of the car’s heater because his chilly bones weren’t yet accustomed to it.

“Where can I take you? Unfortunately, I can’t take you to my house, though I wish I could. It’s iffy even giving you a ride, but if anyone found out you actually stayed with me, I could get fired,” he said apologetically, rolling the car forward as he glanced at Louis for direction.

“Go left,” Louis rasped, hacking up a lung to clear his windpipes of whatever was obstructing them. Blood and gravel, most likely.

Mr. Carey flicked his blinker on and made the turn, accelerating to normal speed and flicking all of the vents over into Louis’ path. “I should probably take you to a hospital,” he mused in concern, studying his student’s roughed-up body for signs of emergency-room-worthy injuries.

“No. No hospitals,” Louis quickly refused, shaking his head and flicking his wrist forward. “Just keep going straight, and then turn left on Quartz Road,” he instructed politely, subtly putting his forgotten seatbelt on.

Mr. Carey could have asked a lot more questions, but he trusted that Louis knew what he was doing. The kid was a genius whether he saw it in himself or not, and he had a good head on his shoulders—a main reason why kids with less useful heads pegged him as a threatening target.

“What’s your name, Mr. Carey?” Louis asked curiously, chasing any topics that would lead him away from dwelling on Troy’s newest abusive frenzy.

“My name?” the teacher asked with a chuckle, deciding Louis of all people deserved to be knowledgeable of his well-kept secret. “Lisa.”

“ _Lisa_?” Louis repeated incredulously, holding back all potential bouts of laughter because now was not the time to have any trust shattered.

“Yup. My Mother wanted a baby girl more than anything, and all the doctors told her that I was one, but when I was born, of course they discovered they’d been wrong. This didn’t even phase her in the slightest for the naming process, and she went ahead and named me Lisa out of sheer stubbornness,” he informed, smiling fondly at his Mother’s ever-stagnant resolve regarding most everything in her life.

“Did she treat you with like…disappointment ever? Was she upset that you were a boy? Did she treat you and dress you up like a girl?” Louis wondered, relieved that something actually had been able to diverge his thoughts.

“No, no, she was all talk. I had to live with the name, but that’s the only inconvenience she did me…but _shit_ , was it a big one,” he laughed, getting Louis to chuckle for the first time since he’d gotten into the car.

“I can only imagine how horrible school must have been. _Lisa Carey_ ,” he slowly recited, hiding his smile behind his blood-crusted jumper sleeve. “Two feminine names in a row. And then you happen to be gay on top of all of it!” he giggled, lightly slapping his forehead in honour of his teacher’s lifetime of misfortunes.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Mr. Carey agreed, pushing his glasses higher onto his nose and turning onto Quartz Road. “Pops was flat-out _convinced_ that Mom turned me gay because my name was Lisa. She got so much flak for that in the beginning,” he noted fondly, slowing down to await Louis’ guidance.

“Just keep going,” Louis said with an encouraging wave of his arm, immediately hopping back to their riveting conversation. “In the beginning?” he asked, needing a bit more clarification on that mysterious ambiguity.

“Both of them are quite fine with who I am now, this was back in high school,” Mr. Carey informed happily, frowning in regret when Louis’ face fell from the words. “I’m sorry that your Father isn’t as easy-going,” he said sincerely, resisting the urge to reach out and rub his shoulder. One, it might physically hurt the kid like this, but the more important two, that act may cross some rigidly-set student-teacher boundaries.

“It’s okay,” Louis sighed, having recently come to terms with his banishment because it had landed him somewhere so much safer. “I don’t miss him,” he bit haughtily, shoving every thought for his poor and lonely Mother aside to prevent an ocean of tears from filling the inside of Mr. Carey’s car. He needed to find a way to contact her, and he had to do it soon. He didn’t trust her ability to escape everything seamlessly, and he certainly didn’t trust Troy’s ability to control his temper.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Mr. Carey murmured, coming to a sudden halt when Louis waved his arms like a maniac without warning.

“Sorry,” Louis said in reference to startling his teacher, squinting out the window and concluding that they were in the right location. “Here is good.”

Mr. Carey looked around and dropped his mouth open in confusion, not the slightest bit convinced that here was an acceptable place to leave Louis, especially in his bruised and swollen state. “Are you sure? Was it something I said?” he asked carefully, furrowing his eyebrows at Louis’ blatantly amused cackle.

“No, you’re copacetic. I’m just good from here. I promise,” he stressed into the skeptical face of Mr. Carey, slowly getting out of the vehicle to get one step closer to Harry.

“This doesn’t feel right, Louis. This is just the forest, where do you plan on going?” Mr. Carey pressed, once again turning every which way to observe their environment and frustratingly seeing nothing but trees in each direction.

“You’re gonna have to trust me, Lisa,” Louis chided patronizingly, finally shimmying his way out of the car and holding the door open as the shivers came rushing back into his bones.

“That’s _Mr. Carey_ at school, Louis. I’m not kidding. The notes on my door will be endless if anyone finds out,” the teacher squeaked fretfully, instantly picturing every worst possible outcome from the exposure of ‘Lisa.'

“Chill, Mr. Carey. Your secret is safe with me,” Louis promised with a wink, shutting the door and shooing him off in the hopes that he would just leave without any more interrogations concerning Louis’ plan of action.

Mr. Carey narrowed his eyes out the window at his cheery student, regretfully turning the car around and driving away against every single shred of common sense he had. It felt utterly wrong to leave Louis on the outskirts of the forest in the dark, but he had to keep reminding himself that Louis obviously knew what he was doing, or he wouldn’t have gotten out…right?

 

\---

 

Halfway through the forest and Louis was direly regretting trading the cozy warmth of Lisa’s car for the lacerating whips of the cold outdoors. In spite of his pain and discomfort, he still had to laugh at Mr. Carey’s first name being Lisa. That poor man.

The wind was committing terrible crimes against Louis’ open wounds and scratches, and it soon became an ambiguous testament of his strength to even make it to the mansion before keeling over in death. He used the trees to pull himself down the hill—that’s right, he needed help going _downhill_ —and precariously slipped with every step due to the wet leaves coating the floor. It was a calculated work of the Gods that he didn’t actually fall and roll his way down.

Once the ground evened out, Louis sighed in relief, cutting himself off shortly after because the upcoming incline past the fence reminded him of its treacherous existence. He leisurely strolled along the dirt path and savoured the easy-going time he had left, taking a deep breath and stomping his foot down on the first step up the hill.

He may as well have slid himself across the dirt like a snail, and the air was miraculously cleaner and lighter when he finally made it to the top. He stumbled his way toward the stairs to the front doors of the mansion, close to preferring his bedtime to be in the soggy grass, but he was unexpectedly joined by a frantically concerned Harry who flew out of his house and down the steps like a hawk.

“Louis, what happened?!” the vampire barked, catching the boy in his arms when he toppled over in relief.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Louis slurred, his vision spiraling down into a one-dimensional blur. Apparently he was worse off than he thought.

“Oh, it is _not nothing_. And you’re _not fine_ ,” Harry growled, lifting Louis in his arms bridal-style and holding him unnecessarily close. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Louis didn’t have much ability to refuse at this point, and he let himself be carried into the warmth of the house. Being this close to Harry was intoxicating, but the pain in his everything was permitting him from fully enjoying the rare privilege. He was set down on the couch and manhandled to sit up straight while Harry took a seat to his left and scooted in so their thighs were touching.

“Who did this to you?” Harry asked darkly, brushing Louis’ hair off his forehead to look directly into his tired eyes. “I'm going to rip them apart.”

“Just some kid at school,” Louis groaned, the pain in his head drastically more prominent under the light of the living room.

“I want a name, I'm gonna fucking kill them,” Harry snarled, unknowingly dropping his fangs in his fury and snagging Louis’ wary attention.

“Well I’m not giving you one! You already have a pretty terrifying facial expression,” Louis noted, pulling his own upper lip back and vaguely circling his index finger to point at Harry’s inhuman incisors.

Harry noticed at once what Louis was gesturing to and closed his mouth with a snap of his teeth, backing away from the human like he’d been shot with a rocket. He had been initially fixated on Louis’ battered state, but now that everything was understood and his life wasn’t in any immediate danger, the leaked blood coating his skin became a gigantic problem, and Harry wasn’t ready for this kind of proximity to it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be around you right now,” he said tightly, covering his mouth with a shaking hand and backing up to the fireplace. “It’s affecting my priorities.”

“Harry, wait,” Louis whined desperately, reaching a throbbing arm out and frantically beckoning him back.

Harry should not under any circumstances approach Louis and accept his unfairly enticing invitation, but the trusting look in his eyes transfixed Harry to the point of own kind’s compulsion, and he couldn’t help but return to his side. Louis snatched Harry’s arm the second he was within touching distance, and it was a cruel joke that the act smeared some of Louis’ blood on his own skin.

“I want you to,” Louis said surely and blatantly, yanking the vampire’s wrist until he gave up and sat back down.

Harry’s heart, stomach, and brain were all in knots, and he didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. He knew what he wanted, but should he really take it? “You don’t know what you’re asking—”

“You’ll make the pain go away, right?” Louis whined pathetically, hoping to win the vampire over with his child-like and irresistible charm.

Harry looked at him in surprise, holding tight to his clarity so he wouldn’t get lost in the hypnotizing blue of Louis’ eyes again. “How did you know that?” he asked curiously, already accepting any answer Louis could give because the boy has always been inexplicable.

“I don’t know, I just do,” Louis admitted truthfully, having not understood his confidence either.

Harry pondered what he should do for a sufferable minute or two, running through the pros and cons of turning Louis into a blood-partner. The list of pros was so vast that Harry couldn’t actually address each bullet point in one sitting, but the most obvious con was enormous and loud as all fuck in his mind. If something went wrong, Louis could die.

Eventually, he made up his mind. It may be selfish and irresponsible, but denying himself of Louis when he was so willingly offering himself would be the stupidest mistake Harry has ever made. “Once we do this, we can’t go back,” he informed seriously, needing Louis to comprehend all of the permanent ramifications of forming this strong of a bond. “ _I won’t_ go back. If I drink from you, you’ll be mine.”

Louis managed a small laugh without coughing and let his head fall against the back of the couch, keeping his sultry gaze on Harry’s stern face. “I’ve been yours since you told me to get the fuck out,” he whispered, all air leaving his lungs when he was picked up so fast he hadn’t even seen Harry reach out for him.

“Don’t be afraid,” Harry soothed, a sweet and warm smile illuminating his face that was meant only for Louis. He carried the weightless human up the stairs to the fourth floor, impressively pulling the latch of the trap door open with his foot and descending the steps in the dark.

Louis closed his eyes as he was taken down into darkness, opening them once he was gently laid onto Harry’s bed. The vampire set about lighting every candle in his room for Louis’ benefit, and disappeared out of thin air, instantly returning with damp rags and medical gauze in his hands. “You’re fast,” Louis noted with wide eyes, holding his breath when Harry dropped to his knees and began gingerly tending to his injuries. “What are you doing?”

Harry glanced up to meet Louis’ eyes for a split second and returned them to his road-rash equivalent gashes. “Dressing your wounds. What does it look like?” he said with a tiny chuckle, letting Louis know his rude words held no offensive intentions.

“Huh…guess I just had this idea that you would lick all the blood off me,” Louis explained, watching in confusion as Harry delicately ran the wet rag over his arm and dabbed it with a previously unnoticed tube of neosporin. Harry snorted at the comment, sending a shiver down Louis’ neck when the cold air from his nose caressed the uncomfortably warm cut on his arm.

“That would be incredibly stupid,” Harry retorted, considering this wound properly cared for and wrapping the gauze around it, trying his best not to notice the blood on his fingers.

“Why?” Louis pressed, always annoyed that he never got full explanations on the first try.

Harry eyed him with an arched eyebrow, bemused at Louis’ consistently demanding inquisitions and his fearless personality around such a dangerous creature. Harry snapped his fingers and tugged on the hem of Louis’ jeans, the delicious human consequently gulping and shimmying out of his pants. Louis jolted when Harry rested his hands on his upper thigh, but it wasn’t Harry’s fault that he’d been injured here too.

“Something in our saliva causes blood to rush to the surface at a faster rate than it would normally flow,” he finally informed, beginning the same cleaning process on his thigh. “It’s like your blood itself wants to be taken. Everything in you wants me, and if I licked it all, you’d be heavily bleeding from too many places at once.”

Louis winced when the applied neosporin stung him like a bee, watching in want at Harry’s cold hands brushing against his thigh. “Then…where are you gonna—”

“Here,” Harry interjected, tapping on Louis’ neck and letting his two fingers linger on it for a bit longer than necessary, shameless excitement bubbling in his stomach while he felt Louis’ thumping pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Oh,” Louis squeaked in embarrassment, covering the same spot on his neck with his palm when Harry pulled his hand away and resumed wrapping gauze on his leg.

They fell into a comfortable silence while Harry dressed every gruesome blemish on Louis’ body, moving him every which way and enjoying every second that their skin made contact. “You’re A-negative, right?” he asked after several minutes, nearly done dressing the last wound on Louis’ back.

“How can you—” Louis began in shock, taking a few seconds to consider why Harry had that ability, and rewriting his sentence. “—yeah, I am. Does that matter?” he asked nervously, suddenly worried that his blood type would be unsatisfactory. If you would have told him two months ago what his life would be today…

“It matters because that’s what I need to stock up on now. In case something happens,” Harry responded neutrally, lightly patting Louis’ back when he finished and scooting around to sit next to him.

“Something happens…” Louis repeated carefully, only a smidge of worry floating to the surface of his mind.

“You’d pass out before I would kill you,” Harry pledged, speaking the declaration directly into Louis’ soul. “Death isn’t even a possibility. Loss of consciousness is the worst case scenario with me. I promise.”

Louis nodded his head because he didn’t trust his voice, and the loss of response turned into an awkward gap in conversation, so he rushed to fill it with the first thing that popped up. “You said that you need to restock on A-negative. Does that mean you don’t already have it? Do you not like it as much as other kinds?”

“No, blood is blood,” Harry chuckled, leaning to the side with one hand pressing down into the mattress. “Some vampires will vehemently disagree, but when you’re as old as I am, you stop caring. It all does the same thing.”

“And how old exactly are you?” Louis asked in interest, shyly looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

“Older than your history accurately remembers,” Harry replied, smirking at Louis to the highest degree.

“Ancient Rome?” Louis asked knowingly, figuring it was a safe bet because it was the oldest era he’d found artifacts from.

Harry gave a short and bright laugh, throwing his head back and sighing before he replied. “Yeah. I should have figured you’d already know.”

“Your name was Hadrian,” Louis stated matter-of-factly, once again sending a spark of something down Harry’s spine.

“Yes, it was.”

“Should I call you—”

“I’d rather you call me Harry,” the vampire said firmly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his bent knees. “It’s been Harry for four hundred years now. It’s just as connected to me as my original name is,” he informed, glancing over and tucking a fallen strand of Louis’ hair behind his ear.

“Okay, Harry,” Louis breathed weakly, predictably turning to jelly under the slightest touch of the ancient creature’s hands.

The smile Harry felt himself give wasn’t one that he’d shown anyone in an impossibly long time, and he didn’t understand how Louis could bring out the parts of Harry that only Alexander had been entitled to. “Are you ready?” he asked lowly, touching their foreheads together and sliding a hand up into Louis’ fluffy hair.

“What’s going to happen?” Louis whimpered excitedly, goosebumps covering his skin from the maddeningly light touch of Harry’s fingers.

“You’ll just have to see,” the vampire murmured, pulling back and placing his fingertips on Louis’ chest. “Lie down,” he whispered as he pushed Louis down on his back.

Louis crumbled under the gentle guide, falling with a bounce onto Harry’s mattress and holding his breath when the vampire slowly climbed over his body, shivering against the unnaturally cold skin.

“What I meant—when I said that you’d be mine—was that you’ll be just as addicted to me as I am to you,” Harry informed in-between deep breaths of Louis’ chest, inhaling the human like he was a drug. Because he is.

Louis was senselessly tickled by Harry’s thin and soft hair falling and brushing on his chest, but he couldn’t laugh about it if he tried. “Well, are you gonna leave me?” Louis choked, raising his head to stare into Harry’s fully dilated eyes.

“No,” he immediately responded, nuzzling his hips down until Louis got the point and spread his thighs apart, letting Harry lay himself down in-between them. “I already know that I won’t. Ever since this, I’ve known I wanted you indefinitely,” he said, reaching over and pulling the blood rag from under his pillow, letting Louis see how serious he was.

Louis took the blood rag and clenched his fist around it, any response he could have had flying out of his brain because their lower halves were pressed together in a way that was quickly turning him into a loopy mess. He hadn’t put his pants back on after Harry had treated his thigh, and surely they were both painfully aware of Louis’ helpless hard-on. “Okay,” he said simply, hoping that would suffice as an intelligent reply to Harry’s somewhat romantic confession.

“Just relax,” Harry whispered into his ear, unintentionally raising Louis’ panic levels to the highest they’ve been yet. He let his hands roam wherever they could get to, playing around with barely-felt hints of caresses and rough gropes when the human least expected it. He kissed his way up Louis’ panting chest, but he would not travel to his neck quite yet. “Open your eyes,” he instructed, waiting until he could see that magnificent blue before going further.

Louis did as he was told and opened to his eyes to find Harry’s face hovering inches above his, parting his lips when Harry held his chin and pulled the bottom one down with his thumb. Is Harry going to kiss him? The vampire leaned in suspiciously close and their lips just barely made contact when he veered off and pressed them to his cheek instead. Harry kissed both of his cheeks, his forehead, his temples, and his jaw, and just as Louis opened his mouth to beg for a real one, Harry swooped in and claimed it, setting every arousing instinct Louis had on fire. He had never kissed another man before, but somehow he knew exactly what to do, and he didn’t falter once.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry praised, going straight back into the heated kiss before he could get a reply. There was a small amount of blood on Louis’ lip from a cut, and Harry knew he couldn’t spend much more time here or he’d go nuts with desperation. He mapped Louis’ mouth with his tongue and documented what he felt to his memory, switching the angle of his head to discover everything from the other side.

Louis’ arms subconsciously traveled up Harry’s arms to wrap around his neck, and his legs wrapped themselves around the vampire’s back like they had minds of their own. Harry chuckled into their kiss and pulled away, trailing tiny kisses down Louis’ jaw to reach the destination of his neck. “Thank you,” he spoke against Louis’ skin, smearing his lips on the human’s tantalizing blood for another infuriating teaser.

“For what?” Louis mouthed, barely any whisper in the question, but Harry still picked it up with his inhuman senses.

Though Harry had heard him, he did not respond; too immersed in the crook of Louis’ neck and what heavens lie just beneath it. He snuck one hand under Louis’ head and rubbed his thumb back and forth across the nape of his hairline, pushing the other up behind his back to hold his delicate shoulder. With his hands, Harry stretched the skin out in opposite directions to discern the best point of entry with his fangs. He was undeniably drawn to one particular spot where the blood was already gathering in anticipation, and he kissed the particular area to officiate his decision.

“Please,” Louis rasped, tightening his hands into fists above Harry’s back and arching up to get himself even closer.

Harry couldn’t stand hearing the human grovel so helplessly, and he was feeling a bit desperate himself, so he promptly did away with the teasing games he’d been playing. He opened his mouth and pulled his lips back, dropping his fangs and diving into Louis’ neck with a predatory hiss, embedding them completely with flawless expertise despite not taking blood straight from a human in several innocent centuries. It was every bit as indescribably amazing as he’d remembered, and he growled in pleasure while Louis gave him the sweet and precious gift of life.

The second Harry’s teeth had made sharp, painful contact with Louis’ neck, his arousal had already shot through the roof, but being fully bitten and _taken from_ was on a whole other galaxy of enjoyment, and Louis cried out in ecstasy while he was given an endlessly continuous orgasm. He came hard in his underwear, and Harry pushed his hips down onto his, subtly grinding them in a circle and upping the intensity of the perfect bliss just when Louis thought it couldn’t get any better.

The more blood Harry noisily gulped, the warmer he became under Louis’ hands, and Louis was blown away at this supernatural transition of life, beyond proud and satisfied that he alone was giving Harry a gradually strengthening heartbeat. His own bodily pleasure aside, the mere knowledge that he was transforming Harry into a breathing, sweating, and colourful creature made Louis climax once more, and he clung tightly to Harry as he rode it out. “Take me,” he begged in a choked groan, whining when Harry pulled his teeth out and gasped for air.

“You want me to make love to you?” Harry panted, reaching a hand down between their bodies to palm at his own hard crotch.

“Yes,” Louis moaned, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows because he couldn’t handle the vision of having sex with Harry without losing his cool exterior—like he ever had one to begin with.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed in temptation, licking all the blood he’d ignored off of Louis’ neck and innocently nipping with his fangs without breaking the skin to drive him wild. “I will…but not tonight,” he said with finality, pushing himself up onto his hands and creating a wide gap between himself and Louis’ deliciously pliant body.

“Why not?” Louis asked with a pout, receiving the same sensational smile he’d seen earlier in response.

“Because you’re hurt,” Harry said obviously, running his hand down the gauze on Louis’ thigh and dipping his thumb way more inward than should be acceptable. “You just don’t feel it right now, but wait a while, and I’ll take you in every way you wish,” he promised, once again claiming Louis’ mouth in a passionate kiss while he pressed the blood rag against Louis’ neck to stop the flow.

Louis held the cloth against his skin as Harry broke their kiss, a shy question coming to mind that he was desperate to confirm. “Do I—do I taste good?” he asked nervously, his breath held as he opened himself up to be disheartened.

“I've tasted you before, Louis. That rag you left on the sink? But yes, you do. _More_ than good. Like heaven on my tongue,” he confessed, reluctantly rolling onto his side next to the human and tapping his ringed fingers on his chest. “Oh, here,” he added, tossing another clean rag onto Louis’ crotch so he could clean his release off his stomach.

Louis laughed out loud over that fated rag, thinking himself stupid for forgetting such an obvious detail. The vampire had only _worn it on his wrist_  for days on end. “I'm glad, then. Oh, uh, can I have a pair of…can I change these?” he additionally asked as he squeezed his eyes closed, beyond mortified that he’d come in his underwear, but believe him when he says you would have done it too.

“Of course,” Harry said easily, rummaging through his pile of clothes to find something the human could wear. “Here,” he announced, presenting a pair of silky drawers and eliciting a sharp laugh of disbelief from Louis.

“Are you sure?” Louis asked, already inching his own underwear off to replace them.

“Yeah,” Harry said distractedly, subtly glancing at Louis’ cock and raising his eyebrows because it was practically an exact copy of Alexander’s. The size, shape, and girth were all identical to Alex’s, and Harry frustratingly added it to the growing list of oddities.

Louis shyly slipped Harry’s fancy underwear on and gasped when the vampire yanked him into his arms and crashed down onto the bed. Louis turned toward him and pressed himself up against Harry’s chest, listening to the priorly unheard sound of a thumping heart underneath his now warm and normal skin. “Your heart is so fast and strong,” he mentioned needlessly, just confounded by the instant reaction he’d noticed taking Harry over.

“It’s all for you,” Harry replied, pressing his lips to Louis’ nose and tightening his arms around his frail body, overcome with affection and love for the unique and special boy. “I borrowed your life from you, what you hear is all your doing.”

Louis grinned and wiggled his hand up and hold it over Harry’s heart, deeply fawning over that reality. “That’s quite an intense bond,” he noted in fascination, meeting Harry’s eyes and losing track of everything as they spoke to him in a foreign and mysterious language.

“The strongest in the world,” Harry murmured, holding Louis’ cheek and thumbing at its wonderful bone structure.

“I’ll always want to bring you to life. I don’t want you to die again,” Louis admitted sadly, burying himself in Harry’s chest and pressing his ear to the drumming sound again.

“It’s okay, Louis,” Harry chuckled, twirling a lock of the human’s hair around his index finger. “I’m dead most of the time.”

“Yeah, but—” Louis objected, propping himself up on his elbow and searching Harry’s face for signs of dishonesty. Surely he couldn’t truly be content with dying when life was so heavily coveted. “—you shouldn’t have to be. This heart should _always_ be beating,” he stressed with conviction, somber that it was such a temporary thing.

Harry chuckled again and raised his characteristic eyebrows, hopping up on his elbow too so they were level with each other, and intertwining their legs. “You’re about two thousand years too late for that.”

“I know,” Louis sighed, taking one of Harry’s hands and holding onto it while he could still be warmed by his palm. “But you deserve to be alive.”

“I’ve been alive all night,” Harry argued fondly, letting go of Louis’ hand to tuck his hair behind his ear, running the backs of his knuckles down the boy’s cheek because he couldn’t help himself. “Blood in me or not, you make me feel alive, Louis.”

“Why me?” Louis asked in honoured confusion, allowing Harry to push him down on his back and snuggle him as gently as an immortal could likely manage.

“There’s something about you that I’m not seeing yet,” Harry said vaguely, pulling his comforter up over their bodies and drowning in the warmth that got trapped in their bubble. “I don’t know exactly what it is, but I have no hesitation in telling you that you’re different from any other human on this Earth. I just don’t have all the pieces put together yet.”

Louis stared hard into Harry’s eyes, releasing his held breath and moving to chase his addictive lips, sighing into the kiss he was granted with and throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders to pull him closer. They equally lost themselves in their emotional liplock, a slow blur of tangled limbs and wandering hands, each individually thanking entities they couldn’t see for dropping one another in their lonely paths.

 

\---

 

Uncountable passionate snogging minutes later, Louis was serenely draped over Harry’s chest when he felt his heart begin to slow. “Shit, Harry!” he cursed, sitting up and grabbing onto his chest like he may be able to stop the process.

“Louis, Louis,” Harry said with a shake of his head, scooping both of Louis’ wrists into one hand and commanding his focus. “It’s okay. This is what always happens. I didn’t take that much from you because you lost enough today already, so it didn’t last that long, that’s all,” he soothed, releasing Louis’ wrists and peacefully closing his eyes for the slow death that was upon him.

“But—” Louis contested, leaning down to listen to Harry’s heart and internally whine about it. Its pace fizzled out to be nothing more than a few feeble thumps, and then it stopped entirely, leaving no life behind in its absence. Louis raised his head from Harry’s chest and gazed at his horrifically paled skin, the exact same image he’d beheld when he’d snuck into Harry’s room the other night. Harry’s lively laughter at Louis’ dumbfounded expression was a stark contrast to him being officially dead, but Louis had never been happier to hear the sound. “You’re okay.”

“Of _course_ I’m okay, Louis. This is what happens. I know you spied on me while I was sleeping, you’ve seen this before,” Harry chided lightheartedly, dropping a cold hand onto Louis’ uninjured thigh.

Louis jolted from the temperature shock, and covered his own hand over Harry’s, hoping to somehow transfer some of his warmth to him. “You knew I was in here?” Louis asked in shame, lowering his gaze because he didn’t want to be in this spotlight.

“Yeah,” Harry said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, walking his hand up to rest on Louis’ clothed hip so it wasn’t as uncomfortable for the hot-blooded human. “I also know that you read my journals, went through my clothes from France, Rome, picked up Alexander’s _Iliad_ …my kind has superior senses, if that needed to be mentioned. I could smell everything you touched, but it was really cute that you tried to hide it,” he said with a taunting smirk, relishing the blush on Louis’ cheeks.

“Oh, I…” Louis trailed, not sure where to go after being so blatantly outed. If Harry had known everything, then Louis must have looked like such a fool when he’d attempted to deny figuring anything out, but what was he supposed to do? Regardless, it was all out in the open now, and nothing needed to be admitted—nothing had ever been hidden. “Tell me about your kind,” he suggested, knowing that it was a loaded question, but also that he had a lot of time.

“You can’t honestly expect me to start listing off characteristics,” Harry chided, scoffing in bemusement when Louis only nodded unsurely. “That’s not how this will work, Louis. There’s too much. Ask me questions, and I’ll answer them.”

“But there might be some things I won't think to ask,” Louis argued, knowing there was a multitude of supernatural traits he wouldn't ever think of.

“Let’s start with the basics,” Harry replied, knowing that if Louis missed anything crucial, he'd fill him in.

Louis racked his brain for the most important pieces of knowledge he desired, leaning his hands back on the mattress and stretching out his legs. “Do you have any superpowers?” he asked lamely, cringing after Harry’s patronizing giggle. “Well, _do you_?”

Harry calmed his snickering and covered his mouth with the side of his hand as the last breathy laugh escaped his nose, adopting a more serious demeanor because it was clear Louis meant business. How was a human supposed to know any better? “There is no creature on this Earth that has faster speed, a stronger body, or…longer life spans than us. I mean obviously, we're immortal. I was originally going to say better senses, but there may be some animals with keener senses of smell, though there’s a compelling debate about that. Point is, either way, we are at the absolute top of the natural food chain,” he informed, slowly blinking at Louis as he waited for the next question.

Louis wanted to find out as many things as he could, and that meant blazing through everything without commentary—deeper explanations could come later. “How do you turn into one?” he asked daringly, considering no subject off-limits unless otherwise notified.

“Receiving the blood of another. Don’t worry, you’re safe,” Harry added with a chuckle.

“Okay. To be honest I wasn’t sure about that,” Louis noted with relief, moving on to the next inquiry but getting swiftly interrupted.

“Wait…you had the suspicion that you might turn if I bit you, and you still let me? You didn’t even ask?” Harry verified incredulously, sitting up and getting in Louis’ space.

“I…yeah,” Louis admitted, forcing the conversation to continue whether Harry liked it or not. “Do you need blood to survive?”

Harry kept staring at Louis until he could tell it was stressing the human out, reluctantly lying back down but making a mental note to demand Louis explain his reckless behavior later. “No. Common misconception of our species over time. Blood representing actual necessary food is only found in mythical legends and horror stories,” he said with a roll of his eyes, eternally put out by the odd theories of his species that have circulated the world for centuries upon centuries.

“Then why—”

“We’re not alive,” Harry continued, picking up where he left off because he hadn’t been waiting for a response yet. “Simple as that. The dead need nothing from the human world to succeed in existing, we just do. Surviving would have been ensuring that we never turned into this in the first place,” he said darkly, idly playing with his hair because Louis shouldn’t have to see his angry side at this early juncture in their relationship. “We don’t need blood to _survive_ …we need it to _live_.”

“How are you okay when you’re dead? How are you even here right now?” Louis squeaked, already accepting he’d probably never know that answer.

“You got me there,” Harry said with a horizontal shrug, having contemplated these very thoughts most of his life. “Everything is useless except for brain activity. Logically, it shouldn’t be possible, but here I am.”

“So why do you sleep?” Louis asked while he scratched his head in confusion, trying to recall every scientific fact his school career had ever taught him.

“Like I said, brain activity is fine. I can only assume that no matter how inhuman I am, that function still needs a break. I tested that theory and painstakingly discovered the same things happen to me as any other human suffering from serious sleep deprivation,” he said with a shudder, thanking whatever that he was able to sleep because sometimes, that pause in existence was magical. Think if he never escaped his conscience…

“Which is?” Louis pried, unable to relate because he’d always gotten a _decently_ healthy amount of sleep in his life so far. There’s a key word in there.

“General exhaustion, delirium, depression and anxiety, short-term memory loss, mania, and…illusions, delusions, and hallucinations,” he said with a harsh bite on the last word, remembering all the apparitions of Alexander that he’d condemn months of sleep for, just to see him for the briefest flashes of moments.

“What kind of hallucinations did you have?” Louis asked carelessly, picking up on Harry’s peculiar emotions regarding that word, and dumbly recalling the first journal entry of Harry’s that he’d read. The visions of…

“The kind I’d never sleep for,” Harry said tightly, pushing the conversation forward because he would never discuss certain things in his life. “Next question, please.”

Louis could tell he’d struck a nerve, and their talk in general had been sliding in a morbid direction, so Louis did what he could to lighten the mood and hopefully put a smile back Harry’s beautiful face. “How do you feel about garlic?” he deadpanned, grinning when Harry shrieked out the very cackles Louis had been wanting to hear.

“That myth is my all-time favourite, I gotta say. I do not have any aversion to that particular vegetable,” Harry snorted, dabbing under his eyes even though he wasn’t currently able to cry. “Or _any_ vegetable, while we’re at it.”

“Thought so. Can you eat food at all?” Harry gave a simple shake of his head, and Louis committed the fact to memory. So no chocolates for Valentine’s Day, then. “Can you see your own reflection?” he asked, once again irritated that Harry seemed to find it amusing.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to see my reflection?” Harry questioned, having some fleeting memory that this was another stupid rumor of his kind, but he certainly didn’t understand it.

“Okay so why do you have a room full of covered mirrors upstairs then? I thought it was poetic or something,” Louis reasoned, unknowingly opening a can of worms in Harry’s emotions.

“That’s...different,” Harry said vaguely, pursing his lips in thought. “It’s poetic, I suppose. Someone in my past and I used to...we liked mirrors. Er...we liked watching ourselves, uh…” he trailed, thinking about all the times Alexander and himself had fucked each other while staring into their reflections. How exactly can he bring that up? “And then I covered them all, because I didn’t want to see...myself…”

“Say no more,” Louis said helpfully, tempted beyond measure to get a full explanation of that, but smart enough to keep quiet. For now…

“What else?” Harry urged, anxious to run away from this topic.

“Well, I already figured out that you don’t sleep in a coffin, upside-down like a bat, or _as_ a bat, so that covers that,” Louis noted, leaving Harry the chance to confirm or deny any one of the claims.

“My coffins are back there,” Harry said neutrally as he pointed to the corner of his room, shocking the little human to an adorable degree.

“What?” Louis croaked in a tone that broadcasted he was nothing short of stunned.

Harry smiled and fished around for one of his many flashlights, gripping onto one’s handle and flicking it on, pointing it toward the dark corner that had all his coffins in a row.

“Why do you have those?” Louis asked with a cock of his head, adding up the things he’d seen and this new piece of information, and coming up blank.

“Nowadays? For when I’m feeling melodramatic,” Harry mused theatrically, so old in age, and yet so easily embarrassed by his own actions. You’d think he’d be perfect by now.

“Are you…are you gonna explain that, or…” Louis trailed, terribly intrigued but still aware that he shouldn’t push the vampire too far.

Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, marinating in all the laughing he’s done lately that hadn’t been a daily occurrence in far too long. “I used them constantly in the past. Coffins used to be the only places we could sleep in without being found. And if anyone did open it, they’d either shut it immediately out of fright, or gravely regret opening it in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asked warily, already having a pretty good idea of what would happen to the civilians who intruded upon their episodes of sleep.

“Next question,” Harry chirped with a shit-eating grin, getting a monstrous kick out of watching Louis turn gears in his head and audibly gulp when he figured things out.

“Stake through the heart?”

“Stake through the brain,” Harry corrected. “Everything heals over time. Destroying the brain, or taking it away from its owner, will indeed wipe us out, though it's not something a human could ever do.”

"You mean like beheading?" Louis asked in reference to the "taking it away" comment.

"Yeah, that's definitely how it goes," Harry confirmed, a dark and disconcerting chuckle escaping his lips.

Louis refused to acknowledge it. “Hmm…how do you fare in sunlight?”

“Sunlight is awful,” Harry groaned without a second’s delay, scrunching his nose up in distaste as he thought about that soul-sucking orb of fire. “It’s extremely dangerous to be in for longer than a few minutes or so. It doesn’t burn us like eggs in a frying pan, and it won’t directly kill us, but it can indirectly tip the scales if we’re battling a stronger vampire than ourselves. Basically its blinding light makes us laughably weak and completely drains our energy for sometimes days on end. For some unknown reason, it’s just really not fond of us at all,” he finished in annoyance, occasionally wishing nothing more than having a calm and serene sunset to view, but that was a hopeless fantasy. Believe him, he's tried.

“Ah. How many of you are there?” Louis asked, diverting his thoughts away from the saddening knowledge that Harry couldn’t be out and about on a beautiful sunny day.

“More than you think,” Harry said with a sly upturn of his lips, keeping Louis in a perpetual state of ‘Well, what the fuck does _that_ mean?’

“Have you ever met anyone as old as you?”

“Yes, but not in a very long time,” Harry responded, having a genuinely good time strolling down memory lane, even if it brought up some unwanted baggage along the way. “Of course my maker was older than I, Alexander was a couple centuries older, my estranged and evil brother is my age…we Elders tend to lie low, I wouldn’t actually know where to find any,” he informed, wondering where the seniors were hanging out these days, or if he was by some odd stroke of fate the very last one.

“Your brother. He’s your twin, isn’t he?” Louis asked, of course envisioning the portraits of the two hung up on the dusty and forgotten walls of the mansion’s mazes. Apparently he was a bad guy, and that intrigued Louis more strongly than anything else in this conversation. He had an odd feeling about Harry’s brother; almost like he instinctively knew to hate him, but he couldn’t explain why.

“Next question,” Harry groaned, feeling like he’d rather actually die than to bring up or recognize that demon to be his family. Just ask his senselessly murdered Alexander how he feels about Auron Aelius. No villain could ever top Auron’s crimes, and no force on Earth could stop Harry from tearing him apart limb from limb if they were ever again put on the same path. He’ll find him someday. He has long overdue avenging to do.

Louis noticed a manic twitch in Harry’s darkened eyes and the slow extension of his fangs, so he shouted his next question, snapping Harry back into the present and away from his obviously murderous thoughts. “How do you get the money to pay for this place?!” he cried, jarring the vampire as he diligently formulated a response.

“That’s a very intelligent little question,” Harry noted, impressed with the human’s practicality, and his ability to shift the course of Harry’s emotional breakdowns. Something only Alexander could ever do.

“Well, it doesn’t really make any sense. You don’t go out in daylight, so do you work night shifts?”

“ _Gods_ , no!” Harry giggled, having an egotistical field day because his lowly friends like Zayn actually had to put up with that mundane trumpery. “Not me, sweet one. I don’t concern myself with human duties and currency. Martin is in charge of handling that. Vampires willingly give money to me as humans would offer gold to one of their Gods in hopes of acceptance or blessings—by the tens of thousands, sometimes more—just so that I won’t ever challenge their right to be here,” he announced proudly, feeling like a King of Monsters atop his mansion throne.

“Well don’t let that get to your _head_ or anything,” Louis muttered under his breath, only causing Harry to fall that much more in love with him. “You were the Father of Rome for _twenty-one_ _years_ , you childish fossil. Put your God complex to rest already, I've withstood quite enough of your raging indignation and self-absorbed whining for an eternity, _Gods_ , you never change.”

Harry stared in pleasant surprise at Louis’ little Alex-outburst, his theories as to how and why ever growing, but never proven. “Sometimes your words are not your own, did you know that?” he asked curiously, anxious to hear Louis’ take on the topic.

“So I’ve been told,” Louis sighed with no recollection of what he'd just said, thinking of the dramatic encounter with Niall, and of Harry telling him that he’s addressed him as Hadrian multiple times without trying to. Then of course there’re the piano blackouts and the voices in his head—even he can admit he’s been going a bit bonkers lately. “Do you know why?” he decided to ask, figuring Harry may serve as a window of understanding.

“No idea,” Harry said unhelpfully, urging him to continue the questions before his brain spun too much and knocked him out, or snapped his sanity.

“What kills you?” Louis asked unexpectedly, steering the conversation in a polar-opposite direction than it had been, and raising Harry’s usually stoic eyebrows for the countless time tonight.

“I already told—”

“I’m not going to kill you!” Louis jumped to say.

Harry laughed again at the ‘comforting’ statement and sat all the way up, taking ahold of Louis’ wrist and running his palm up and down the soft skin of his forearm. “You can’t kill me, Louis. Try your hardest, I assure you it will not work,” he chuckled, leaning in and nuzzling his nose into Louis’ jawline.

“I’m not going to try, don’t worry,” Louis whispered, his eyes rolling back in his head as Harry kissed down his neck.

“Oh, sure. Yeah, I’ll try to halt the quivering in my soul,” the vampire teased, darting his tongue out to lick a broad stripe up Louis’ neck and find another spot to bite.

“Souls…” Louis mused curiously, mentally slapping himself when the word instantly stopped Harry’s movements on his neck.

“Do I have one?” Harry finished for him, pulling away from his fun because he knew there were things Louis was desperate to know. He could get his kicks in later.

“Yeah,” Louis said without complaint, staring into the green eyes that met his with a mysterious amusement sparkling in them.

“No idea. I don’t think so. I’ve never come to think it did anything but left…maybe it died when I did, I really don’t know. Fizzled out over time? That is a thing I have contemplated for many years, and I’ve never gotten any closer to the answer than I am right now,” he said, adopting a pensive expression while he tried to re-hypothesize the very topic that used to drive him mad.

“Do you turn into an animal at any point in the day or night?” Louis asked to distract him, smiling when it completely worked.

“What?” Harry chirped, eyes wide and blinking, all traces of the last discussion gone from his untroubled irises. “No, not at all. I was born human, I have no idea why bats are related to our legends in any way. It doesn’t make any sense,” he said snootily, wishing that he could just go to the local newspaper and spill the truth on his species to get rid of all the ridiculous rumors, but of course that wouldn’t go over well with any human society.

“Crosses?”

“Are annoying—” Harry shot back with a roll of his eyes, reaching around for a hair tie and gathering his long hair into a high ponytail. “—but not because they affect me. Because I’ve seen a lot of needless carnage done in the name of what they represent. Which isn’t the cross’s fault, but over time, you stop wanting to look at one. Alexander was born long before that religion was created, 359 b.c. to be exact, so he saw every step of its progression, and he didn’t appreciate it either…but wars have always been fought in the name of religion, no matter what it is.

“356,” Louis corrected, charging the air with large amounts of hypothetical electricity.

“What?” Harry asked tentatively; he’d heard him, but he wanted to hear it again.

“Alexander was born in 356 b.c.,” Louis said knowingly, not blinking once while Harry glared daggers into his eyes.

“How do you know that?” the vampire asked carefully, watching Louis’ every move and trying to find his tells.

“I read it,” Louis lied, already having a way out even if he hadn’t read it.

“You read it,” Harry deadpanned suspiciously, scooting even closer to Louis so he could intimidate the human to come clean with whatever he was hiding.

“My history book told me that Alexander the Great was born on July 20th, 356 b.c.,” Louis tactfully evaded, omitting the fact that it was bullshit, but entirely confident that his history book would say that somewhere. Win-win.

“Yes, of course,” Harry realized, backing away from the defensive human and staring straight at the foot of his staircase. “Sometimes I forget that he isn’t just my personal secret. He belongs to history as well,” the vampire accepted, taking a moment of pride to congratulate his love for remaining a figure that others could look up to, even if his recorded history ended way before his actual demise.

“Where does the blood go when it wears off? Like…you drank from me earlier, and you eventually died again. What happened to my blood? Surely it didn’t fall out anywhere,” Louis asked, switching topics again because he was an expert at diffusing tension.

“Clever of you to notice,” Harry noted, impressed at Louis’ consistency of critical thinking. “It dissolves like acid,” he stated bluntly.

“WHAT!” Louis shouted in sympathetic disgust, debating whether he wanted to hear the details or not.

Harry decided for him. “It disappears into nothingness with an odd bubbly feeling, and leaves me with my three original bloods,” he informed, realizing a second too late that he’d have to extrapolate on that.

“Original bloods?”

“The blood I was born with that degraded into the sorry substance it is now, the vampire’s blood that initially turned me in the first place, and Alexander’s. Our own kind’s blood will always stay within us and mix with our own, and a human’s will burn away after the effects wear off,” he educated to the starry-eyed Louis, happy that his species was so interesting to the little human, but of course it would be.

“What does your blood look like?” Louis asked, somehow knowing he would get a different answer than ‘the same as yours.’

“How do you know it looks any different?” Harry questioned, scrunching one of his eyebrows and arching the other.

“Er…I just figured,” Louis stuttered, failing to meet Harry’s eyes despite how much he wanted to. “Since it’s so old, and all.”

“Hey, watch it,” Harry chided, resenting his age being used for anything else but a demand for respect. “Do you want to see it?” he allowed with a smirk, acquiring the eye contact he’d been waiting for.

“Yes,” Louis declared while his heart rate increased, his body boiling in anticipation.

“Alright. Just sit back, I don’t need you getting too close. In fact, I don’t want you anywhere near it. I’m serious, Louis, back up. This is dangerous, it could kill you,” he urged, flapping his arm to shoo Louis as far back as he could get until his spine lined up with a bookcase that’s built into the concrete wall beside the mattress.

Louis somehow successfully fought every impulse he had to respond with an encouraging ‘Don’t worry, it’s what I want,’ or anything vaguely similar to that, and kept his mouth shut as Harry lifted a large copper bowl out from his side table. The vampire set it down on the surface and handed the earlier flashlight to Louis to accurately see with. Louis flicked it on and pointed it at Harry, careful not to shine it in his eyes, locking it onto the arm that Harry slowly held over the bowl.

“Don’t let this scare you,” Harry warned as sharp claws shot out of his already formidable nails, forcing a nervous gulp from the heavily-breathing Louis. He guided his index finger to the middle of his forearm and dragged it down toward his elbow with masterful precision and pressure, opposed to actually damaging himself for this game show and tell.

Louis watched with rapt attention to the uncomfortable slicing of Harry’s skin, bugging his eyes out his skull when he got a good look at what was dripping out. “Is that _black_?” he squeaked, leaning forward without moving his position.

“As night,” Harry confirmed, moving his other hand away to give Louis the best view as his blood seeped out of the cut he’d made.

“That’s incredible! And I would just have to…” he trailed breathlessly, setting a hand down on the mattress and disobediently crawling forward with a hypnotized expression.

“Drink this, yes,” Harry said warily, snatching a lighter and holding the flame under his arm to stop the flow and speed up the healing process. “Don’t even think about it,” he snappily added, dropping the lighter into the bowl to burn its contents.

Louis quietly observed as black smoke billowed out of the bowl and gave off a smell that wasn’t comparable to anything he’d ever experienced. He shifted his eyes to Harry’s arm and gasped when he discovered all traces of the incision ever happening had disappeared. He reached out and Harry licked off all remaining blood before resting his wrist in Louis’ hand. Louis turned it every which way in fascination, adding another characteristic of Harry’s kind to his mental bank: they had instant healing powers.

“Any more questions?” Harry asked so they would not linger on his blood, checking the bowl for any stray droplets and tossing it aside when he deemed it powerless.

“How many people have you killed?” Louis wondered, considering everything he’s learned so far and deducing Harry probably had a long list of murder behind his eyes.

“The truth?” Harry stressed to make sure, continuing when Louis nodded eagerly in spite of his obvious fright. “Somewhere in the high thousands, and probably a lot more. I wouldn’t have lied to you even if you hadn’t wanted the truth. However, those days are far behind the vampire you see before you today. You are the first human I have bitten since Martin back in Paris during the Revolution—which you know all about,” he said with a wink, crashing down on his side and absentmindedly running the backs of his fingers up and down Louis’ arm. “By default, that means since then, no human has died by my hands in that time period. You can lie comfortably in my arms. I will not harm you,” he cooed, lacing his words with a silent request that was successful in coaxing Louis into his side.

Louis sighed into Harry’s chest and let himself be enveloped by the strong and historically homicidal arms, somehow remaining absolutely calm and trusting in their hold. “I know you won’t,” he pledged convincingly, wiggling around until he had enough mobility to stare into Harry’s eyes.

“Anything else you would like to know?” Harry murmured quietly, unable to refrain from holding Louis’ cheek when it was so close.

Louis closed his eyes and covered Harry’s hand with his own, following its route to the side of his head and into his hair. “There are things I could think of. I want to know everything about your past—” he admitted, opening his eyes to make his stance known, “—but I also don’t want to ask things you don't wanna talk about. Regardless of the fact that I couldn’t make you tell me anything you didn’t want to, there are things I don’t consider appropriate to ask. At least not yet,” he said with a shrug, sliding his hand off of Harry’s and snaking it around the vampire’s back instead.

“I appreciate the respectful hesitation,” Harry praised in mild surprise, Louis once again proving himself to be the best human on Earth. “I will tell you what I want when I want. There are indeed things that would be painful to relive, but stick around and I’ll probably spill it all. I’m Roman, I love talking about myself,” he teased, having always carried the Roman mindset of perfectionism and vanity with him over the eras. Romans were the most beautiful and eloquent creatures of all time, and Harry has been around long enough to solidify that biased opinion into irrefutable fact.

“Bite me again?” Louis asked innocently, even tilting his head toward Harry to bear his neck within their gapless proximity.

Harry sniffed around for anemia and was elated to find Louis was safe, stilling the fidgety boy in his unbreakable embrace while he gently forced a leg in-between Louis’ to give his pelvis the right pressure at the right times. He took his time driving Louis wild with light kisses and nips, patiently waiting for a begging whine and relenting when he finally got it.

Louis cried out as the otherworldly fangs pierced his neck, thrusting him right back into that blissful headspace that he’d reveled in a mere hour prior.

Harry snuck a hand down Louis’ silk shorts that were actually his and freed his cock, giving it gentle tugs while he lightly pressed his thigh down against his sack, sending him into untameable overdrive. Everything went numb with pleasure, and his orgasm came fast, spilling over Harry’s knuckles onto the expanse his stomach.

Louis could always tell when the life Harry was taking took full effect, because he would begin to feel the exhales through Harry’s nose after every gulp he’d take, and that knowledge was just as magical as last time. “I love you,” he moaned without thinking, cursing in his head for blurting such a serious phrase so soon.

Harry only moaned in response, haphazardly wiping his hand on his silk sheets and forcing it back under Louis’ body to squeeze him harmlessly while he continued to drink his unparalleled-in-taste essence. He noticed the moment he needed to stop and detached with a breathless groan, once again reaching back and slapping the rag on it after he was done.

Louis took over and held it there himself while he impressively sat up, giving Harry the freedom to fall over onto his back and pant at the ceiling. The beautiful human boy was extremely tired from the loss and probably couldn’t conjure any energy if he tried, and Harry was extensively in tune with this reaction. “Come here, little one. Sleep now,” he cooed, catching Louis when he keeled over and reintroducing the comforter to their tangled forms.

“But what about you?” Louis slurred, drowning in the rare warmth that Harry now had.

“I couldn’t sleep when I have you in my arms, that would be a waste of time,” Harry chuckled, peppering Louis’ face and lips in playful kisses and nuzzling their noses together. “Get some sleep, I’ll watch over you.”

“You’re gonna watch me while I sleep? You’re a creep,” Louis mumbled jokingly, barely able to flinch away from the short tickle he got in response.

“Like you haven’t done the same,” Harry said knowingly, not needing to bring up Louis’ sneaking again to get his point across. Louis was being a teeny bit difficult, so he decided to up the stakes. “Go to sleep,” he kindly ordered, throwing some of his compulsion into the command and proudly grinning to see its effectiveness reach new heights now that Louis was bonded to him.

He chuckled at the delicate little snores that began to fall out of Louis’ mouth and interlocked their fingers on the most convenient hands, nestling them in-between their chests and swooning over the identically matched heartbeat they shared. He threw the blanket all the way over their heads to bask in his love’s scent and sent a quick apology to Alexander for falling in love again because he’d promised he never would.

_Sorry, my sweet Alexander. You know how I feel, but I’m afraid I’m giving my heart away regardless. It’s in Louis’ hands now…_

For some reason, Harry knew that Alexander wouldn’t mind.

 

~~~

 

_“Hadrian,” Alexander whisper-shouted, guiding him away from the flock of adoring humans and into the nearest alley so they could talk. They had traveled to France to get away from Britannia’s troubles, but it seemed drama would always follow the walks of human life._

_“What!” Hadrian snapped, pushing Alexander’s hands off his shoulders and crossing his arms while he squinted his eyes back in the direction of the town square. “Why would you interrupt my dinner? I hope you have a good—”_

_“Gods, Hadrian! Do you always have to be so snotty and greedy? There are plenty of humans to feast on, but there’s only one me, so you'll treat me with some respect if you know what's good for you,” he growled, gripping Hadrian by the hair and yanking his head back as he sunk his fangs into his neck to keep him in check._

_Harry gasped and grabbed Alexander’s hips, whining when his lover pulled away just as quickly as he’d attacked. “I’m sorry,” he said with a low hang of his shoulders, holding his palm to his neck while the puncture wounds closed._

_“Good…a leader by the name of Charlemagne has just become Rome’s first ‘Holy Emperor,’ and he unexpectedly divided France into sections for each of his five disciples,” he announced, waiting patiently until Hadrian asked for more information—he had the tendency of malfunctioning when given too much news at once, and Alexander didn’t need any more snappy remarks._

_“Alright—” Harry began after a while of processing what he’d been told, searching his brain for the missing ingredient. “Outside of me being dangerously furious that Rome has undergone a change of religion, and that France is being divided and will become chaotic, making us move once more, why do you have that look on your face?” he asked, leaning forward with narrowed eyes to get to the bottom of things._

_“I just saw one of the disciples in the city, Hadrian…he’s a vampire,” Alexander whispered, watching the gears begin to turn. “Think, Hadrian. What vampire can you think of who would take control of Rome and send his disciples out to search the neighboring country?” he said slowly._

_“You don’t think…”_

_“I think it’s possible,” Alexander stressed, looking up and down the alley to make sure they weren’t followed or being spied on._

_“Where did you see him?” Hadrian demanded, already taking steps to leave their hiding spot and sweep the streets._

_“Don’t walk away,” Alexander pleaded, dragging Hadrian the opposite way they’d come in, hopefully popping them out on the other side of the vampire._

_“What do we do if it’s—”_

_“We cross that bridge when we come to it, but if you trap me into something we could evade, I will beat you into the ground, young one,” Alexander muttered, emerging from the alley into the less-populated side of town and commencing a calm stroll under the arm of his true love._

_“I love you, Alexander. You know that, right?” Hadrian reminded into his hair, giving its softness a fond kiss and quickening their pace to get home so they could express their love in their special way. They were of course aware of the presence behind them, but they wanted to delay confrontation for as long as possible._

_“Of course I do, you reckless and instinctive beast of a—”_

_“Master Auron,” said presence called, both lovers freezing in place and turning like a pair of turtles._

_Hadrian faced the vampire with fire in his eyes, pushing Alexander behind him because this situation had sketchiness written all over it. “What did you just call me?” he snarled daringly, showcasing his fangs and hissing in the stranger’s direction._

_The vampire approached like Hadrian was an old and joking friend, but he gasped in terror when he really got a good look at the Roman in front of him. “Auro—you’re…not…Auron?” he stuttered in adulterated fear, instantly regretting every action that had led him to this situation._

_“Where is he?” Hadrian roared, stalking forward in the most threatening way one could._

_“I’m–I’m not telling you, Ha–adrian,” he tried to retort with confidence, only making himself look weaker in the process. “But I’ll deliver a message,” he crooned with a bit more spark, throwing his all into appearing superior by association._

_It didn’t work._

_Hadrian flashed to him in the span of a second, catching him by the neck, and slammed him up against a wall. “You tell that slimy sack of feces that I’ve been looking for him. You tell him to stop being a cowardly little shit and face me like he’s avoided for hundreds of pathetic years,” he snapped darkly, watching his prey wriggle and squirm inside his grasp._

_“I’ll try my best, but Emperor of Rome is a busy job, you know. You may remember?” he rasped, grabbing onto Harry’s forearm and digging his nails into it._

_Harry growled and reared the vampire back, smashing him right through the wall he’d been suspended on and entering the large hole his body had made._

_“Hadrian!” Alexander cried, rushing after the two and holding his lover back to the best of his ability. He got the Roman to rethink his decision to end the vampire’s life because they needed answers, and ridding themselves of that opportunity wouldn't do any good. Hadrian sighed in defeat and dropped his head on Alexander’s shoulder, glaring at their intruder for all he was worth._

_“Oh, I’m sure Auron will be pleased to hear of your inferior subservience,” the unknown vampire mocked as he gestured to the embracing couple, frightfully wondering where all this bravery had come from._

_“On second thought,” Alexander piped, stepping out of Hadrian’s arms and descending on the enemy, ripping his head clean off his shoulders with centuries of practiced skill. He shoved the severed head under his arm and marched to the aqueducts where it would float along into the Loire river and never be seen again._

_“You know…for being the ‘pacifist’ of the two of us—”_

_“Quiet, Hadrian,” Alexander sighed with a gurgled groan tacked onto the end, wordlessly throwing the body over his shoulder and depositing it into an empty barrel in the alley they’d come from._

_Hadrian shuffled up behind his love and snaked his arms around his body, nosing at his neck and planting small kisses under his ear. “You were so alluring during your violent episode, my darling,” he moaned, cut off by the rapidly spinning Alexander who did not have time for flirtation._

_“Hadrian, you know what this means, right?” he asked seriously, taking ahold of his Roman’s hand and holding it against his own face, crestfallen when Hadrian reluctantly nodded his head. Their life just got complicated._

 

\---

 

Harry smiled down at the gradually rousing Louis, content that he did absolutely nothing but fond over the human all night. It was nearing daylight, so Louis had needed to wake soon anyway, and his whimpers were driving Harry mad with adoration. Before Harry had the chance to sweetly whisper him awake, Louis shot up, the most unprecedented phrase flying out of his croaky throat the second he opened his eyes.

“Charlemagne is Auron!”

Harry just stared like he’d witnessed a pig fly, blinking at the obviously disoriented Louis and wishing that his kind really could read minds.

“What am I…hello,” Louis said vacantly, shaking his head and lying back down. “What just happened?”

“What are you?” Harry huffed, rolling Louis over and holding himself above the groggy human, desperate to understand the inner-mechanics that made him function.

“Freezing,” Louis replied with chattering teeth, clawing at the blanket now that he was consciously aware of Harry’s frigid body.

“Sorry,” Harry quipped, lowering himself down to the side and pushing the comforter down in-between them to make a little wall of space in the middle. Louis apparently didn’t want this and yanked it back up, dashing forward to press himself against Harry and shiver it out on his own terms.

“What time is it?” he asked curiously, remembering he had a watch and feeling around for it on the ground behind him. He’d taken it off at some point in the night, but—

“It’s near sunrise,” Harry said in blatant annoyance, just barely smoothing out the growl that always accompanied that word. _Sunrise_.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Louis asked in concern, taking Harry’s negativity for some sort of endangered fear.

“What? Of course,” the vampire replied, keeping the arm around Louis on the outside of the blanket because he really didn’t need to suffer so much on Harry’s behalf. “I’m just going to sleep. But you’ll need to go to school, won’t you?”

“Aw, shit,” Louis cursed, detesting the very idea of school because now he’d lost his morning ride. “I can’t go anyway,” he remarked, feeling around his neck and convulsing from the shot of pleasure that followed brushing his fingers against the puncture wounds. “Not with these on my neck.”

Harry smiled and scooted down, fonding over his handiwork and shamefully desiring to make new ones. “You’ll have these scars for your whole life, but don’t worry—” he added to appease Louis’ look of shock, “—only vampires and other bitten humans can see them.”

"Shit, really? That's convenient," Louis noted, feeling around his two little bite marks and quivering with bliss.

“There's a system to this,” Harry informed, stretching his limbs and lying on his back, interlocking his hands behind his head and staring into Louis’ ever inquisitive eyes. “Vampires can see marks on any human, and human blood-partners can see marks on each other, but only vampires can see marks on other vampires. It's the next level up. However, no eyes outside of our world will ever get a glimpse at any of this. To educate you further, vampires can additionally sense the _age_ of any bite’s maker, and discern if said bites were all made by the same vampire or not. This is how fang whores are easily pegged as such—because they bear an overload of bites all over their bodies from a cornucopia of different vampires. In conclusion, if all marks on a human  _are_ made by the same vampire, and he or she is an Elder, such as I, then that human will never be messed with.”

"Do you have marks on you?" Louis inquired, scouring Harry's smooth skin for any scars he may have missed, but apparently even if they littered his entire body, Louis wouldn't be able to view them.

Harry's small smile fell away into a look of wistfulness, and his hand crept up to his collar bones, running his fingertips across the multitude of scars that had been forever etched into his immortal skin. "Many," he stated plainly, praying that Louis take the information at face value and not question it further.

Louis picked up on Harry's shift of demeanor, and he scrambled to alleviate the vampire from the gutting pains of memory. “Okay so wait...back up...why wouldn’t I be messed with?” Louis asked, figuring it had a lot to do with respect and societal class laws.

"Ah," Harry quipped, his mood lightening as his comforting smirk plastered itself back onto his face. “Because it’s obvious that you’re owned. Nobody wants problems with Elders. I certainly don't, and I _am_ one,” he murmured right into Louis' ear, taking a huge whiff of his neck because he’d never been prouder to be in control of a human in his life, and he had to take it all in.

“Owned?” Louis squeaked, feeling a blush creep up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Yes, Louis,” Harry chuckled, pressing their lips together for a painfully short-lived kiss. “I own you.”

Louis thought it over and bit his lip as he realized the gravity of those words, unable to deny his attraction to such a dynamic. “I think I really like the sound of that,” he admitted breathlessly.

“I’m glad you do,” Harry noted in amusement, predictably tucking a strand of Louis’ hair behind his ear because _Gods_ , that’s one of his favourite things at this point. “Fang whores sport all kinds of marks from vampires of relatively young ages, and they will always accept a bite. They are fair game, but you…” he trailed, locking their lips together and claiming Louis’ mouth for as long as the human could go before he needed air. He pulled back when that time came and ran his thumb across Louis’ bottom lip, sliding his four fingers down Louis’ reddened cheek. “All of yours will made by me. No vampire would ever dare. I would destroy them,” he said, picking up where he’d left off like he _hadn’t_ just turned Louis’ world upside-down with their heated kissing.

“Please give me another one,” Louis found himself begging again, wondering offhandedly if he would ever reach a level of satiation, and deciding he didn’t care either way.

“I want it more than anything,” Harry breathed, returning to the crook of Louis’ neck and finding an uncharted spot to claim.

“Do it,” Louis commanded, rolling Harry over and courageously straddling his hips as he crashed down onto his chest.

The act had surprised the both of them, but Harry couldn’t be more aroused at his beloved little human taking charge like that. The switch of positions would make the blood flow quicker with the help of gravity, and Harry couldn’t at the moment ask for anything else in the world. He smoothed his hands down Louis’ back to grip at his arse, kneading the thick skin he found there and grinding their crotches together. Just as Louis gasped in startled enjoyment, Harry dove in to the area he’d chosen directly under Louis’ jaw, one hand coming up to hold the back of Louis’ head in place for him.

Louis whined through a closed mouth when the bite finally came, his breathing terribly erratic when the hand still on his arse shifted to the center, putting mind-blowing pressure on his hole and sending him right over the edge without warning. This time the underwear did pay the price, but he couldn’t care about anything besides Harry’s lips on his neck, the focal point of the embedded fangs shooting pleasure through every inch of his body.

Harry hardened faster than he’d expected, and it was becoming extremely challenging to deny his instincts and _not_ connect their bodies in a heat of passion. He wanted it probably as much as Louis did, but someone had to be in control here, and it certainly wasn’t the human…who had to go to school. _Damn,_ Harry mentally cursed, concluding that this was not the time for sex when Louis had responsibilities, no matter how mundane and pointless they might be.

He escaped the heaven of Louis’ neck and gladly handed him the rag again, guiltily pleased that he would have his renewed scent to moan over while he was away. “You’re mine, Louis. Never forget that,” he warned with no actual threat, gripping Louis’ hip bones and rubbing circles into them with his thumbs.

“You’re mine too, you know,” Louis reminded haughtily, pretending to be more interested in everything else besides Harry.

“I am,” Harry agreed, flying up from his horizontal position to take the straddling Louis in his arms and press his head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat and loving the fact that he had the same one. “I am completely and utterly yours. I was a bit lost before you wandered into my mansion, but you’ve taken more pain away in these last couple weeks than I would have ever thought possible. Apparently my emotions are in your hands, so take care of them,” he pleaded lightly, sighing into another addictive kiss with his Louis.

“I will,” Louis pledged in-between kisses, whining when Harry fell back in what looked like exhaustion. “Harry?” he asked worriedly, crawling up his body to look into his eyes.

“I’m okay,” the vampire heaved, fixing the pillow underneath his head and pulling Louis down until their foreheads touched. “When the sun comes up, we get weakened whether we’re in it directly or not. We always know when it’s in the sky, and I personally can’t handle it. It’s very tiring,” he said with a yawn, closing his big green eyes and casting shadows onto his cheeks with his long eyelashes—probably in part due to the exaggerated candlelight, but whatever.

“Does it hurt, though?” Louis asked to confirm his lover wasn’t suffering in any way.

“No, it doesn’t. It just wears me out,” Harry soothed, fighting an overtaking of sleep the longer he kept his conscious mind running. “You have to go to school now, Louis.”

“Ugh,” Louis groaned, hating to agree, but needing to if he were to graduate. “Tell you what…I’m positive that my ride won’t show, in which case I won’t go until I can figure something else out, because I’m not walking that far every day. But if by some small chance he _does_ show, then I’ll be home at four thirty,” he said logically for his own comfort, cooing when he discovered that Harry had already lost his battle with impending sleep.

He leaned down over the still-breathing vampire and kissed his lips to say goodbye, not even bothering to exit the bed or room quietly because he knew from experience that when Harry was out, he was _out_. He blew out every candle for safety reasons and shuffled his way to the stairs in the dark, valiantly attempting to come to terms with the fact that he had to leave at all.

He made a stop to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, not able to do much else in the battered condition he was in. He wanted a shower, but he didn’t want to re-do all the bandages...but he also didn’t want them getting infected. He decided he’d cross that bridge if he came to it. He finished what little he could do and headed out to grab his backpack, heaving a long and miffed sigh before opening the door to the morning.

He really hoped Niall didn’t show, but that was only one side of him. The other side wanted it more than anything so he could apologize and be done with it. He climbed each step with careful precision, unwilling to stub his toe and add to the pain that he was already noticing more the further the distance between Harry and himself became. So Harry was the antidote to his physical pain, and without him, Louis would feel the after-concert-shit-show on his body all day as if it had just happened. Great.

He wished that he was big and strong like Harry so he could pick Troy up and throw him across the football field, but if he played his cards right, that future might be open to him again…wait, again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry might know what happened to his soul...but I do ;)  
> I had no idea this chapter was that long tbh ahaha. Hope you liked it xD


	9. Five Pages for Two Thousand Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say that Louis consistently gripes over needing to do his homework or he'll fail high school. And he's always worried about graduating, but he's literally fine. His grades are fine. He's just paranoid.  
> 

Louis sat outside on the curb with a depressingly hopeless outlook; there was no way that Niall was going to come pick him up after everything that had been said. He’d made it pretty clear that he wouldn’t be back until Louis came to him and explained everything, but where could he start?

His mind was preoccupied anyway with the sharp turn that his and Harry’s relationship had taken over the night, and he gingerly felt around his neck for the telltale marks he was invisibly sporting. They produced the same pleasurable sensation as they had earlier, but the pain in his body was a mightier foe to compete with.

It was just his luck that his remedy couldn’t be with him when he left, but knowing that he would get to see Harry when the sun went down gave him something to look forward to whenever his life sucked, so he couldn’t really ask for more. Being melancholy and cynical the second he woke up until he went to bed had proved to be a real shitty way to live life, but the new turn it had taken seemed to be the dependable answer to all of his troubles.

It just sucked that he already missed Harry.

He kept his fingers on his neck to keep his vampire close, and he’d just dropped his forehead onto his knees when he heard a rumbling engine in the distance. Startled, he lifted his face to behold Niall’s white truck crawling down the road, staring with wide eyes when it pulled up in front of him and sat idly to wait for his entry.

Louis shot up to his feet and winced from the ache that countered him, brushing the dirt off his butt and shuffling forward in the bitter cold to grasp the door handle and yank it open. Niall wasn’t looking at him, but this friendly act told Louis everything he needed to know.

He pushed himself up into the truck and used his leaning weight to pull the door closed after him, sighing into the jarring heat of the truck’s interior and dropping his backpack onto the floor. Niall still hadn’t made any movements to drive or speak to him, so Louis figured he ought to go first. “I’m sorry for whatever it is I did,” he pledged to Niall’s unreadable profile, swallowing audibly when Niall turned his head to look at him for the first time.

“You don’t even _know_ , and that’s the part that gets to me,” Niall said in dumbfounded irritation, running a hand through his hair and squinting his eyes at his best friend, wondering why he’d even come if no resolutions would come out of it.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Louis blurted without thinking, rapidly formulating a plan to finally get some of this guilt off himself.

“You will?” Niall asked, his spine perking up in interest.

“Yeah, just…give me one more day. You can come over Friday night, I promise, everything will make sense. I just need more day, please,” he begged, taking unplanned and thoughtless leaps of faith to get himself through this conversation. The plan in his head entailed going to Harry in a time of obvious need and groveling at his feet until the vampire agreed to meet his friend, but Louis knew he had no right to insensitively ask something like that to a creature as private and aristocratic as his lover. It was just that he couldn’t lose his only friend and protector at school for constantly omitting the truth of his life, but he couldn't get Niall back with compelling and believable explanations on his own, so he needed Harry’s help.

Niall was a bit put out by yet another evasion of the truth, but he’d never been given a deadline before; Louis had never promised anything so substantial thus far, so as sketchy as it sounded, Niall couldn’t deny it was progress. “You know Friday night is tomorrow night, right?” he asked to make sure Louis understood where in time they currently were. Louis nodded frantically, so Niall sighed with a shrug and accepted the request. “Okay, Louis. One day,” he said sternly, commencing and cementing the timer on Louis’ testimony.

They settled into useless small talk for the rest of the ride to school, impressively managing to pull a few giggles out of each other every once in awhile. They were in the middle of discussing when the school would give the results of which performers would go to the finals when Niall pulled into the parking lot, able to snag his usual spot because they’d arrived a little early.

Louis hopped out and shut the door with a bang, sharply inhaling because he’d apparently forgotten about his ailments. It also didn’t matter how nonchalantly he tried to play his condition off, Niall instantly knew something wasn’t right.

“Louis, why are you limping?” the blonde inquired when he circled the truck, glaring at his best friend’s hindered gait and resting a careful hand on his shoulder to halt him in place.

“Oh, I uh…” Louis began, not needing to delve any further because Troy passed them on the right and unknowingly answered for him.

“I can’t believe you’re walking after last night,” the bully sneered, earning an automatic laugh from his goons who were barely even listening. “Guess I’ll need to go harder next time,” he proposed with an innocent shrug, corralling his pawns to turn their walking into jogging.

Niall was quiet for a few moments as the footballers skipped away out of earshot, aggressively rounding on Louis the second he was free to, and accidentally turning him into a flinching mess when that was the furthest thing from his intention. “Sorry,” he lamented, waiting until Louis had gotten over his fright before continuing. “What the hell happened last night?” he demanded in a less threatening manner, crossing his arms and making it perfectly clear they would not be moving from their spots until Louis talked.

“It was after the concert, it doesn’t matter anymore,” Louis said, trying futilely to walk around the bridge troll that was Niall Horan.

“It most certainly does matter, how could you even say that? You didn’t mention anything happened last night at all, why didn’t you say something? Tell me what they did,” he urged with an equally sympathetic and livid expression on his face.

The reason Louis hadn’t informed Niall of last night’s violent attacks was a pretty obvious one; he didn’t want Niall blaming himself for it because he hadn’t been there to give him a ride home. And Niall would feel like shit no matter what, but he especially wouldn’t move from where he stood until he knew Louis wasn’t lying, so he had to tell him. “I came outside after the concert was over last night, and Troy with his gang were waiting by the back door. I tried to get out of it, but he was more unforgiving than I’ve ever seen him. I tried to fight back, but nothing ended up working in my favour, and well…I got annihilated,” he recounted shyly, locking his eyes on his worn, Adidas sneakers as he waited for a response.

Niall was shell-shocked and extremely disappointed in himself because he knew exactly why Troy had been so uncommonly rageful; he obviously hadn’t appreciated Louis’ lunchroom episode, and Niall should have remembered Troy would hold a destructive grudge over it. He should have been there. “Fuck. How did you get home?” Niall asked first, saving all of his frantic apologizing for after he was completely filled in.

“Mr. Carey actually gave me a ride home, it was really nice of him…did you know his name is Lisa?” Louis added, desperate to lighten the mood even one notch higher, but it was like Niall hadn’t even heard him.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Louis. Troy got pissed off at lunch when you publicly threatened him from across the room, and I guess I didn’t think that he would go to the concert at all, because even I didn’t…I’m sorry,” he whined, pulling Louis into his arms and ignoring the winces—poor thing had been worse.

“ _What_ happened in the lunchroom?” Louis asked instead of addressing the emotional confession, taking tentative steps forward until Niall accepted the stride and walked along together with him. _Did he say publicly threatened?_

“I can’t really explain it, to be honest. It was like you were a completely different person. You were saying all these words I didn’t recognize, certainly had never heard you say before. You didn’t seem to know who I was for a second, it was terrifying. But I shouldn’t have left you that night. Or when you were crying, for that matter. I feel awful! You needed me, and without me, Troy got to you. That’s a burden that will never leave my shoulders,” Niall groaned, dabbing at his tears because he couldn’t handle being the indirect cause of another hate crime inflicted on Louis.

“Niall, _please_ ,” Louis begged, refusing to acknowledge the spoken memory of him ‘being a completely different person.’ He’d heard that a few times now, and he sort of knew it himself, but it was almost starting to ruin his life, and he didn’t want to think about what it meant. “I’ve been lucky to have you there to protect me all the times that you already have. You’ve been such a supportive and savior-like figure in my life. Don’t downplay that just because something happened in your absence, okay?” he pleaded, rising onto his tippy toes and smacking his lips on Niall’s pouting cheek.

“Alright,” Niall muttered sadly, wiping at Louis’ kiss and walking his hand across his best friend’s boney spine to drape it over his opposite shoulder. “As long as you tell me everything tomorrow,” Niall reminded, deciding he would be the insistent and redundant force that would ensure the great reveal to actually take place. Louis wasn’t cutely blinking his way out of this one.

 

\---

 

By some horrible orchestration of fate, Louis’ history class was officially in the Ancient Rome section of the textbook, but given everything that has happened up to this point in Louis’ life, it really shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise. Still…you gotta be kidding, right?

Louis zoned out for most of the lecture because he’d already read everything of value in his book when he’d sat behind Stone Boy—who Louis now knew was Hadrian/Harry. In addition to that day of captivated researching, he had additionally blazed through most of the content that the library had to offer, so he considers himself decently fluent in the subject of Rome by now. Amidst his arrogant daydreaming, a word crash-landed into the discussion and yanked Louis back into the present like a slingshot.

“—Hadrian,” Mr. Chilton finished.

“Wait, what did you just say?” Louis asked loudly, smiling as politely as he could so he wouldn’t get chewed out for not listening.

“I said and then we have Hadrian,” Mr. Chilton repeated exasperatedly, locking eyes with Louis until he knew he could resume.

“Oh, okay,” Louis chirped happily, leaning forward on his desk and adopting the demeanor of a teacher’s pet book worm. Louis honestly couldn’t wait to hear what Mr. Chilton had written in his lecture notes that pertained to his boyfriend, but he instantly regretted and rued that excitement.

“If Hadrian set out to rule as honourably as his beloved predecessor, then he got off to a bad start. Having barely been crowned for a few months, at the hands of his intolerant personality, four of his respected senators, all ex-consuls, were dead. Wasn’t much later that men of the highest standing in Roman society had all been killed for plotting against Hadrian. Many however saw these executions as a way by which Hadrian was removing any possible pretenders to his throne. All four had been friends of Trajan. Lusius Quietus had been a military commander and Gaius Nigrinus had been a very wealthy and influential politician; in fact so influential he had been thought a possible successor to Trajan. But what makes the 'affair of the four consulars' especially unsavoury is that Hadrian refused to take any responsibility for this matter. Might other emperors have gritted their teeth and announced that a ruler needed to act ruthlessly in order to grant the empire a stable, unshakable government, Hadrian alternatively denied everything.

“He even went as far as swearing a public oath that he was not responsible. More so he said that it had been the senate who had ordered the executions—which is technically true—before he placed the blame completely on the innocent Attianus, the praetorian prefect, and his former joint-guardian with Trajan,” Mr Chilton recited boredly, quite the history nut himself, but never enthralled while talking about it either.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Louis interjected, turning all eyes to him and his apparent contribution. “You’re painting Hadrian out to be this terrible person, but he wasn’t. If you’ll remember, he was recognized as one of the Five Good Emperors. Surely he didn’t get that title by being a complete jerkoff,” he muttered indignantly, realizing that starting a full-out brawl over this was a bad and aimless idea.

“Oh, and _you_ have all the answers, do you? Anything else you want to rudely add while I’m talking, Tomlinson?” Mr. Chilton warned, glaring over the brim of his glasses with a finger on his notes so he wouldn’t lose track.

“No. I’m good, sorry,” Louis reluctantly mumbled, steeling himself for whatever additional information Mr. Chilton supposedly had on Hadrian.

“...Once he became emperor, his tastes for all things Greek became a trademark of his. He visited Athens, still the great centre of learning, no fewer than three times during his reign. And his grand building programmes did not limit themselves to Rome, Athens also benefitted extensively from its great imperial patron, along with a few grand buildings in other cities. Yet even this great love of art became sullied by Hadrian's darker side,” Mr. Chilton said dramatically, chancing a quick look at the seething Louis before continuing.

“See, Hadrian had invited Trajan's architect Apollodorus of Damascus—the designer of Trajan's Forum—to comment on his own design for a temple, but he then turned on him once the architect showed himself unimpressed. Apollodorus was first banished, and later executed. In addition to his ultra-violent tendencies, Hadrian also appears to have been a man of mixed sexual interests. The _Historia Augusta_ criticizes both his obsession with beautiful young men, as well as his shameless adulteries with married women—”

“Okay, hang on. Why is talking about his sexuality of any importance or consequence? And why tack it on directly after murder, huh? I don’t think it’s fair that you’re bringing up his love life when you know nothing about it,” Louis interrupted again, eliciting a sharp slap of Mr. Chilton’s notes on his pedestal, and a rough yanking off of his glasses.

“Young man, am I teaching this class, or are you? Is that my name on the board, or is it yours? Go ahead, tell me. What does that say?” the teacher asked, pointing and tapping at the top left corner of the black board with a ruler.

“Mr. Chilton,” Louis sighed in defeat, making himself promise he wouldn’t stop the lecture again. It was just so damn hard to keep it in when Hadrian was being talked about as if he were dead, but of course everyone would assume he was.

Mr. Chilton cleared his throat and picked his notes back up with the speed of a sloth, sliding his glasses across his nose and flicking his eyes down to the page. “If his relationship to his wife was anything besides close, then the ongoing rumour that he tried to poison her might suggest that it was even much worse than that. When it comes to Hadrian's apparent homosexuality, the accounts remain vague and unclear. Most of the attention centres on the young Antinous, whom Hadrian grew very fond of. Statues of Antinous have survived, showing that imperial patronage of this youth extended to having sculptures made of him—”

“Hey, Chilton! Can I go to the bathroom?” an unfamiliar student piped from the back row of desks, skipping out when he got a frustrated wave of approval.

“As I was saying, in 130 a.d., Antinous accompanied Hadrian to Egypt. It was on a trip on the Nile when Antinous was met with an early and somewhat mysterious death. Officially, he fell from the boat and drowned. But a persistent rumour spoke of Antinous having been a sacrifice in some bizarre eastern ritual. The reasons for the young man's death might not be clear, but what _is_ known is that Hadrian grieved deeply for Antinous. He even founded a city along the banks of the Nile where Antinous had drowned, Antinoopolis, spelled with two o’s, though sometimes one. Touching as this might have seemed to some, it was an act deemed unbefitting of an Emperor and drew much ridicule and scorn from the people of Rome—”

“Okay, I _need_ you to shut up!” Louis barked with finality, standing from his seat and letting it all out. Detention, here he comes. “You can’t just talk about people’s lives that you never knew. You have no idea what was going through his head, or what Antinous meant to him, and for you to sit there all high and mighty and judge a man who is greater than you’ll ever be is really sad. How would you feel if someone talked crap about you in a millennia or two? Just leave him alone, a history teacher has no place talking about the lives of historical figures,” he said, mentally slapping himself in the face for making such a huge contradiction. That is by definition the job description of a history teacher.

The entire class was speechless at the passion in Louis’ short-lived and rapidly-spoken rant. Some were impressed, some were annoyed, and probably all were confused, but Mr. Chilton was the one filled with rage.

“ _De_ … _ten_ … _tion_ ,” Chilton shakily growled, snatching a salmon-coloured slip from the top shelf of his pedestal and furiously scribbling Louis’ name onto it. He then held it out expectantly and jabbed a finger at the door while Louis packed his things. “Spend the rest of class in the library. Five-page essay on Hadrian of Rome, just for you, since you seem to love speaking for him so much. Due this Friday,” he sneered, brimming with superior comeuppance.

Louis managed to train his exterior into a cool and uncaring one, but he was screaming like a banshee on the inside—he had to do an actual paper on Hadrian. At least he had the real Hadrian to cross-reference his work for him, but how humiliating it would be to explain why he had to do it in the first place.

He took the detention slip out of Mr. Chilton’s hand in the same angry manner that the teacher had pulled it out in, and he really hoped he’d given the man a paper cut in the process. He walked out under the spotlight-eyes of the class, not even hearing so much as a cough in the dead silence of his peers. He fell against the door to open it and pushed it away as he stomped down the hall, the classroom bursting into a belated cacophony of laughter and exclamations the second he left.

He sauntered his way through the cold to reach the library and rushed inside the double doors, much preferring to be here than that stuffy classroom anyway. Mrs. Sloan welcomed him like family and told him to make himself at home, which was a weird thing to hear from a librarian, but he _had_ been spending a lot of time here lately.

He grabbed the same books he’d already read to get some inspiration for his paper, but when he sat down, he found he couldn’t write a single line about Hadrian without the vampire’s approval. Who knew how factual all of these events really were? All these textbooks and educational booklets would be riddled with inaccuracies, so Louis would have to wait until he could ask the real thing.

The bell rang just as Louis had fallen into a dream, jarring him upright as he shamefully rubbed a circle on the wood with his sleeve to erase all evidence of his drool.

He knew his next class would be just as uneventful as the last, but he had to go if he were to pass it. Odds of him passing Chilton’s class were low enough as it is, he couldn’t afford more than one problem subject.

There was also the more prominent worry in his mind that with this newly acquired detention sentence, he would be out of a ride from Niall whether they liked it or not, but at least Troy would be elsewhere by the time Louis got out of the slammer, so the worst outcome would likely be him having to walk home.

Louis was on track to closing his locker after he’d put second period’s things away and grabbed third’s instead, when the infamous Troy made a logically expected appearance around the corner.

“Hey, faggin’ wagon, sucked any good cocks today?” Troy jeered, giving the smackdown on the books and binders in Louis arms, skillfully scattering them across the floor beneath them.

“Detention,” came a stern and deep voice from the right, drawing both boys’ attention to it.

Louis was terrified to discover the voice belonged to Mr. Anderson, who was leaning against the wall like he usually does and staring straight at Troy. He probably thought he was doing Louis a satisfying service, but in reality, punishing Troy had just ensured Louis’ demise.

“Are you talking to _me_?” Troy asked incredulously, stretching his arms out like he was an innocent bystander and hadn’t just harassed a fellow student.

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” Mr. Anderson said neutrally, projecting his indifference to the ‘golden child of football’ for the millionth time. “You just bullied a student right in front of my eyes. You get a detention,” he said obviously, pulling an identical pink slip to Louis’ out of his fanny pack and filling it in while Troy continued to glare.

“I can’t believe this,” Troy snarled, taking the paper out of Mr. Anderson’s hand and giving Louis a deathly glower over his shoulder as he blended into the frantic traffic-crowd of students that had formed because only one minute remained to get to class.  

Mr. Anderson gave Louis a wink and dipped back into his classroom, leaving Louis staring after him and contemplating begging the man to take Troy’s detention back, but he didn’t think that’s how things worked.

Great.

 

\---

 

“You did what?” Niall asked around a mouthful of chili, setting his comic aside because this was unquestionably more interesting.

“I got detention,” Louis repeated, scanning the room for an angry Troy and finding what he was looking for standing by the stacked milk crates.

“But what happened?” Niall pried, downing his chili with a large gulp of apple juice so he could better communicate.

“It’s a long story. Mr. Chilton hates me, that’s basically what happened. He was making blatantly homophobic statements about gay figures in history, and I didn’t think it was respectful…so I let him know,” he said vaguely and proudly all at once, reveling in the sparkle within Niall’s eyes from his words.

“That’s my best friend,” Niall praised, pinching his cheek before digging his stained spork back into the ‘not hard, but not soft either’ chili pile.

“But here comes the bad part,” Louis continued, a bit hesitant to say it aloud because that almost made it more real.

“Oh?” Niall inquired, forcing his throat to swallow the food that was put into it; his Mom had forgotten to make lunch for him, and he hadn’t had the time because _he’d_ almost forgotten about picking Louis up.

“Before third period, Troy walked up to me and slapped my books on the ground, and Mr. Anderson was standing right fucking there, and he gave him a detention too,” Louis said with a groan, uselessly picking at his corn because he didn’t feel like losing any teeth today.

“Shit,” Niall breathed in shared anxiety, following Louis’ shifty eyes and noticing the usually world-dominating football captain with a dark cloud of shame over his head. His posse were talking animatedly amongst themselves like they always did, but anyone could tell that Troy was actually contemplating complex things in his little pea brain, and that was not good. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” he promised in spite of the odds, already knowing exactly what he would do to help.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Louis asked confusedly, always impressed with Niall’s unchallengeable optimism. The blonde always had a plan, no matter what the circumstance, he was ready.

“I’ve got your back,” he assured just as mysteriously, getting a kick out of Louis’ internal guessing game that made its way onto his face.

“Well I’m glad you do,” Louis settled on, finally having the confidence to not warily look over at Troy every seven seconds.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Loulou. He’s not gonna touch you today…well, except for the book thing,” he reiterated, standing because he’d glanced at the clock and realized it would ring any second.

“Yeah, that doesn’t count. Only my books shed a tear over that,” Louis chuckled, following Niall out and not looking behind him once.

 

\---

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Louis,” Mr. Carey lamented, in reference to Louis’ claim that he was to spend the next hour and a half rotting in detention with Troy. “What luck.”

“The very best,” Louis sighed breezily, a polar contrast to his chilling nerves.

“Well just so you know, some of the office faculty will still be here at school until around the time you’ll get out. Head over to them once it’s done, and if Troy is hanging around, maybe one of them can help? I would stay, but I have my side job starting in about thirty minutes, so I gotta get goin’,” he said with a frown, dropping the rest of his folders into his messenger bag and grabbing his paper cup of coffee in his free hand.

“Aw, it’s okay. I think I’ll be okay. I mean Niall told me not to worry, so he’s obviously got a plan,” Louis said with a happy shrug, following Mr. Carey out of the room because the small man had a fire set behind his heels.

“Oh, did you two fix things with each other?” Mr. Carey asked happily, grateful and relieved that Louis had at least someone to watch over him.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s been sorted out. Kinda,” Louis mumbled with a barrage of hidden explanations under his skin.

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Carey hummed in skepticism, realizing it wasn’t his place to pry, especially when Louis looked so uncomfortable, _and_ when he had somewhere to be. “Well, tell me about it later if you want. I gotta boogie, I’ll see ya,” he said with a curt wave, power-walking his way down the halls to reach his car.

“Later days,” Louis said lowly after his teacher had left, quickening his own pace to get this detention thing over and done with.

The first thing he noticed when he crossed the threshold was Troy’s gang huddled in the back corner like a pack of wild monkeys, flinging trash in the air like confetti and shouting with the voices of an enormous crowd. Second thing was that the detention instructor, whomever it would be today, had not arrived yet. Great, more windows of opportunity for Troy’s endless shit-talking.

“Hey, _fag_ ,” Troy sneered at Louis, following the boy with lustful eyes as he sat down because there had been a short moment in the process that his ass had made a magnificently rounded appearance.

Louis ignored the comment and fell into his chair, admittedly sticking his butt out as he sat to taunt the closet case with his ‘sinful and unholy body.’ He felt the sharp thwack of a paper airplane hit the nape of his neck, and he was seconds from leaping over the desks and getting them both expelled when Niall busted into the room with a face that said he’d just won an olympic medal.

“Niall,” Louis breathed in relief, furrowing his eyebrows at Niall’s unchanging smirk. “Shit, what did you do?”

Niall plopped down into the seat beside Louis and dropped his backpack onto his desk from a foot above the surface, leaning sideways in a flash and batting a paper airplane set on Louis’ head completely off course, once more proving himself worthy of being the tennis captain. “I did a thing.”

Louis knew damn well what had just happened, but it was common practice to refrain from giving bullies any credit or recognition for their harassments. Plus, it made Niall’s counter that much smoother, and Louis had nothing to worry about with his blonde knight around. He could keep his back turned on that group of demons all day long. Niall would always protect him. “And this thing was?” he pressed, his imagination running wild with the possible scenarios of Niall’s crimes against the school.

“Well, it was in Mrs. Patch’s class—” he began, giving Louis time to process that fact alone. Mrs. Patch was by far without question the bitchiest and most savagely strict teacher in the entire school, so it was impressive by courage’s standards that Niall would pick that particular woman to torment into receiving a pink slip from.

“Continue…”

“Well, she was giving this lecture on the differences between sedimentary and igneous rocks, right? And the word rock itself got me a little inspired, so I stood onto my chair…”

“Yeah?”

“And I put one foot onto my desk…”

“And?”

“And I belted the first verse of Led Zeppelin’s _Rock And Roll_ as loud as I possibly could.”

“You didn’t,” Louis gasped in surprise, smacking his hand against Niall’s that the blonde had held up expectantly for a high five.

“I did,” Niall corrected with oozing pride, puffing his chest out like an agitated bird. “Funny part was that she let me get all the way to ‘lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely’ before she snapped and gave me a detention. Some might assume she was speechless from the audacity of it, but I like to think she was frozen solid with delighted reverence,” Niall said haughtily, moving his wrist in a small circle as if he were swishing wine around in a glass.

“You’re unbelievable,” Louis noted in amazement, silencing himself when the instructor strolled in and automatically stole everyone’s attention.

The instructor was the football coach.

“Alright, everyone,” Coach Johnston said gruffly, scratching his mustache and staring the room down like diseased rats until his gaze reached his team members in the back, his expression then transitioning into fond exasperation. “You guys,” he chuckled, infuriating every student in the room that didn’t throw a oval-shaped ball for a living.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Louis whispered under his breath, jolting when the coach’s eyes still flew to him instantly.

“You!” he barked, pointing a beefy finger in Louis’ constant target direction. “There’s no talking, or didn’t you know? I get to tell you when you can leave, so I suggest you treat this a little more seriously.”

“Yeah, Louis. How dare you disrespect our coach? Lowlifes like you have no right, you know,” Troy taunted in front of his impressively suppressed laughter right behind it, threatening to burst out because what are the odds that he’d have his coach with him for this, officially leaving Louis absolutely powerless.

“Now now, Troy,” Coach Johnston quipped, taking a seat in the swivel chair that was not his own and slapping his muddy-shoed-feet right onto the teacher’s desk he was borrowing. “All of you will do your homework and any other school assignments that you can squeeze out in an hour. Absolutely no recreational reading or drawing, and I’ll be walking around to make sure that is being adhered to. Guys, I pushed practice back until we get out. Scott’s making them run laps right now, and we’re gonna join in later,” he additionally addressed to his team, actually upsetting them because their mates got to have a super extra long practice, and they could only do half.

“Got it, Coach,” Dante said seriously, giving him more depth than Louis had ever seen. Usually the prick was grossly snorting at all of Troy’s insulting zingers, but apparently he could be decently normal under the right circumstances.

Louis wondered why the coach was taking over the detention duty when he wouldn’t usually be caught dead away from the fields, but the one piece of teacher scandal drama he knew came rushing back all at once. Coach Johnston was married to Mr. Anderson’s ex-wife, Cynthia. Mr. Anderson had filed for infidelity, and rumours of her involvement with the coach had spread like wildfire, because once upon a time, all three of them had gone to high school together. This high school. It didn't take long for the coach to begin wearing a shiny new wedding ring, and for Anderson’s to disappear.

Johnston hearing that his precious gems were jailed by his wife’s old husband likely angered him enough that he insisted to take charge of detention so that they didn’t receive any harsh treatment. Admirable…not.

Louis and Niall rolled their eyes to each other to express their shared annoyance with the situation and stuck their noses into their textbooks, trying their best to ignore the coach’s subtle hints of the correct answers on his team’s homework over their unnaturally muscular shoulders.

 _Slime,_ Louis jeered in his head, boring holes into his folders and binders because if he directed the eye-lasers at their intended targets, it didn’t matter that Niall was with him, they’d all pounce on him at once—maybe even Coach Johnston included. _You’ll all get fat from beer in ten years. You’ll all look like Santa Claus._

 

\---

 

A degrading and sufferable hour and a half later, there were no minutes left on the clock to keep the prisoners trapped, and they all had to be set free. Louis had never ran out of a room faster than he did when the coach gave the go-ahead, and Niall was practically breathing down his neck with how closely he followed.

Finally out in the halls (which usually weren’t such appreciated sights), the boys were given the time to bitch and rant about the god-awful time they’d just had.

“Shit, that was so bogus,” Niall grumbled, tightening the straps on his backpack and dropping a heavy arm over Louis’ right shoulder.

“Agreed,” Louis seconded, heaving a dramatic sigh like he’d been starved of air this whole time. “But you did it to yourself.”

“Hey, so did y—”

“You may think you’ve gotten away easy, yeah?” a voice called, propelling the two boys to turn around and give attention to the smug Troy while the coach walked away toward the field with the rest of the team joking and laughing with him. “But don’t get too comfortable. I’ll take both of you at once,” he threatened, cracking his knuckles like that made him appear somehow more capable than he already was.

“Wow, you _are_ unpredictable,” Niall lilted with a thick lacing of sarcasm in his tone. “All the students you could ask for a threesome with, and you choose the two that fucking hate you. It’s gonna take a lot more than a few confident invitations to get the two of us in the sheets—”

“I’m gonna kill you!” Troy roared, stalking forward with a gradually rising fist, but luckily getting stopped when his coach took that time to mediocrely intervene.

“Come on, T-Dog,” Johnston demanded, snapping Troy’s resolve like he was under a spell, and pulling the captain in with a magical force of gravitation.

Niall and Louis waited until they were all completely gone before slowly turning toward each other and busting up over what they’d just heard.

“ _T-Dog_?” Niall cackled, followed by Louis’ snort of equal amusement.

“That’s about the _worst_ thing I’ve ever heard,” Louis declared, scrunching up his face like he’d taken a bite of spicy curry. Just when he thought Troy couldn’t get any more unlikeable.

“Well now we know why he’s so cool,” Niall joked, eager to resume their stroll to his truck. “We’d all be cool with a groovy nickname like that.”

“Did you see how he acted like a dog, too? Wonder if he sits on command,” Louis mused, linking his arm through Niall’s and happily sighing when the parking lot came into view.

“Sits on _dicks_ ,” Niall muttered under his breath, causing the both of them to giggle like little children.

 

\---

 

“So are you telling me where you live this time, or am I still dropping you off at the forest like you’re a wood elf who lives in the forbidden cities of the trees?” Niall inquired five minutes after they’d been on the road.

“I told you,” Louis scolded to remind him, controlling his laughter because he didn’t need to encourage Niall’s antics any more than he already had. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Ah, right, right. Tomorrow,” Niall repeated, slowly shaking his head and running a hand down over his face. “You better not be fucking with me, Louis, or I swear to—”

“I’m not, I promise,” Louis swore, praying with every brain synapse he had that Harry would agree to meet Niall so they could move past this stupid bickering.

“Okay,” Niall relented, theorizing how he would possibly get any sleep tonight when he knew he would uncover the eighth wonder of the world in just a few short hours.

 

\---

 

Niall pulled up to that same damn spot in the middle of nowhere and gazed at Louis with a face of bemused suspicion, watching him carefully as he eased his backpack onto his aching shoulders and opened the door.

“Thanks for the ride…and for suffering in detention with me when you definitely didn’t have to…and for picking me up this morning…and for—”

“Louis, Louis,” Niall interrupted, chuckling into the back of his hand. “It’s cope. Just tell me why all this happened, and we’ll be even forever.”

“Right. Catch ya later!” Louis sung, sliding out of the truck and taking a big breath before swinging the door shut—it was heavy, okay? He walked around the front and stood on the very curb where Niall had picked him up, giving him a sickening smile and wordlessly communicating that he would not move one muscle until Niall was gone.

Niall rolled his eyes and put his truck into gear, his tires crawling forward with the pace of an ancient tortoise until even he couldn’t stand it anymore, driving away normally with Louis locked into his focus through the rear-view mirror.

“ _Goodbye_ , Niall,” Louis murmured exasperatedly, his shoulders sagging when the blonde finally turned the corner and left him alone. His mind began to reel with all of the things he needed to talk to Harry about, but his feet had already started taking him down the hill toward the mansion. It didn’t matter how awkward or complicated things became, being in Harry’s arms cancelled everything out.

 

\---

 

Even though winter was long over, daylight savings time caused the sun to set much earlier than it normally would, and stumbling through this forest in the dark was never one of Louis’ favourite things. He wished he had a flashlight or even an archaic torch to help him guide the way, but he was left with nothing besides his own outstretched arms to depend on.

Louis trekked expertly through the roots and bushes, dodging and evading every tree trunk that could potentially wipe him out. Eventually he came to the second and last downward slope, and his breath seeped out like it would from a balloon when he saw the distant gloomy castle that had become his home.

He half-jogged, half-slid his way down the hill and sprinted to the gate, disregarding the cries of protest from his tortured body. He let himself zone out enough during his journey up the hill that he didn’t even notice he’d reached his destination until he was closing the front door behind him, lovingly sighing as he dropped his stuff onto the hardwood floor.

The first thing he noticed was sound coming from the kitchen, and he curved right to pop in under the archway and discover the cause of the noise. He crept around the corner and cleared his throat when he was met with Martin’s back; he knew Martin was fully aware that he was here, but it didn’t hurt to be respectful.

“Hello, Louis,” Martin quipped, turning around and giving a curt smile before continuing his tidying.

“Hi, Martin,” Louis reciprocated, taking a seat at the kitchen table because even though he wanted to go climb all over Harry more than anything right now, he also wanted to get to know Martin, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so.

Not to mention Martin was easily the most beautiful butler this world had ever seen. When you think of a butler, you picture a weathered and greying British man with a suit and monocle on his tall, thin frame, and a handlebar mustache the size of a mouse, right?

The smooth and youthful Martin however, could not be any more opposite than that stereotype. He was a surprisingly and adorably short, long blonde-haired, striking green-eyed, excessively freckled little angel, and Louis didn’t think he’d ever get over such an unexpected contrast.

“How has today treated you?” Martin asked politely, his attention still dedicated to his cleaning duties.

“Well, it was okay, I suppose. How was yours?” Louis replied, quickly looking around the room in a feign of innocence when Martin’s head turned so the butler wouldn’t realize he’d been staring.

“Mine? I was asleep for mine, silly boy,” Martin informed amusedly, taking a glance at the clock and nodding to himself. “I technically shouldn’t even be awake at all right now, but with the sun going down so soon, I find myself an early bird,” he said with a shrug, temporarily forgoing his rigorous scrubbing to have a sit down with his Master’s human.

“Yes, of course,” Louis agreed with a laugh, gulping when the butler plopped down into the chair across from him. “Why do you clean so slowly? Don’t take that the wrong way,” he quickly added as he squeezed his eyes shut, berating himself over being so constantly offensive without intending to.

“Ah, time passes too slowly. If I were to get all of my requirements fulfilled within my top capacity of speed, I truly would have absolutely nothing to do,” he informed, having always done things at a much slower rate than any vampire he’d ever met.

“That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Louis noted, leaning forward on his elbows and giving the butler a disconcerting smirk. “Tell me about Harry.”

Martin gave a slow and devious smile, forcing it to straighten out when he came to his senses. “I couldn’t possibly! Harry is my Master, and I will never betray his trust,” he pledged with the utmost respectability, cursing himself for even considering being a gossipmonger.

“Oh, come on!” Louis urged, looking both ways to ensure they were alone, though he wouldn’t even be able to tell if they were not. “Just tell me one thing. Something I may not know. I know a lot by now, if you haven’t guessed,” Louis said knowingly with a snap of his teeth, pleading Martin to catch on.

“Yes, I do have _eyes_ , you know,” Martin emphasized with a chuckle, shifting his eyes down to Louis’ taken neck and back up several times until the human understood his meaning.

“Oh!” Louis gasped, covering his neck with his hand as the memories of Harry’s bites flew back into his mind in vivid detail—he’d almost forgotten he bore these marks. “Funny things, these. Who can see them and who can’t,” Louis giggled nervously.

“Quite beneficial though, no?” Martin mused with a very French-like ending to his question.

“How did you two meet?” Louis asked, recalling the tiny slip of information he’d learned regarding the French Revolution and Harry saving Martin from it.

“It was in the time of France’s revolution, in which we attempted to take back the government from the nasty, stinking bureaucrats. I was only sixteen at the time, and hadn’t any doubts that I alone would bring down the whole of France. We revolutionaries all thought that way,” he said with a smile, crossing his feet over the surface of the table and shooting Louis with a look that said ‘Tell Harry, and you die’.

“Continue,” Louis said quietly and appreciatively, unable to stand the anticipation of knowledge.

“My hope had not even flickered for a moment until I was…until I was taken down by a cannon. It was not the stone ball itself, rather the debris it shattered fell upon me in a crushing downfall. Master Harry found me moaning under said mound of wreckage, and he lifted everything off of me in mere seconds, whereas it would have taken a human too much precious time to save me. They had themselves to look after,” he recounted, a far-off look taking over his features as he went through everything in his mind from that fateful day.

Louis had seen that reminiscent look on Harry enough to know that if left unchecked, the wearer would inevitably fall into a funnel of terrible memories, and Louis rushed to bring Martin back from the ghosts of the past. “Harry’s so strong,” he gushed reverently, happy that his tactful distraction worked.

“As all vampires are,” Martin agreed, setting the conversation back on track. “It was actually too late even when all the weight was taken off of me, because I’d somehow gotten a wooden stake through my stomach when everything collapsed, and I didn’t have much time. Harry took me into his arms and broke into a nearby home so we could stop worrying about cannon fire for a few minutes. He knew I was done for as a human, so he presented me with another option and gave a decently clear description of what would happen if I accepted the offer. I said yes because I was afraid of death, but who knew I would become it,” he snorted, shrugging his shoulders and floating off to the fridge where he downed a bag of blood with his back to Louis so the human wouldn’t have to see the whole process.

Louis stared with wide eyes as Martin deposited the instantly emptied bag into the trash bin, reflecting on the information he’d just been given. Considering Harry hadn’t ever turned anyone else, it made Louis wonder what had been so special about Martin that he would turn him without a second thought just because he was going to die—surely countless other humans had died before Harry’s eyes over the eras. “Were you two ever…” he trailed, too embarrassed to complete the thought.

“A romantic item?” Martin finished for him, throwing his head back in laughter when Louis nodded his head. “Absolutely not. There was a time when I thought I loved him, but it was only because it’s hard not to. Alas, the the most heated our physical relationship ever became was that first moment, with his mouth on my neck and mine on his wrist. After all that passionate moaning, I think he still thought of me as a little brother. My maker wasn’t ever nor could he ever be my lover, and I knew that. Always brooding over the loss he’d suffered two centuries prior. But then you came along,” he mentioned, boring into Louis’ eyes with his own and trying to decode the mystery that Harry himself couldn’t decipher.

“What does it all mean?” Louis asked in confusion, just as flabbergasted as these two were when trying to make sense of recent events.

Martin scrunched his eyebrows together and set his lips into a thin, flat line, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head as theories crept further and further away from his logical mind. “I haven’t the faintest,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair and cocking his head to the side as he watched Louis’ cheeks blush. _Such a lovely colour._

“Do you think we’ll all figure it out?” Louis groaned, truly elated that Harry had found love in him that he hadn’t felt in such a long stretch of time, but also frustrated because there were undeniable oddities that couldn’t go ignored for long.

“We’re gonna have to,” Martin guessed, rising from his chair and pointedly backing away from the table. “I think you should go see him. I will be in my chamber reading _The Lord of The Rings_ ,” he announced, spinning on his heel and taking only one step toward the living room when Louis stopped him.

“You like that series?” Louis asked in dumbfounded shock, grinning from ear to ear when Martin wordlessly confirmed the question. “Me too,” he seconded, giggling when Martin’s eyes sparkled in approval.

“Good tastes. I must go,” the butler pressed with an air of finality, practically flying away from his position and leaving Louis alone in the kitchen with his thoughts and feelings.

Louis stared blankly at the wall of the kitchen, deciding he’d shower to give Harry just a little more time before bombarding him with his presence. He shuffled to the bathroom and pulled out the dial to turn the spray on, pushing it all the way to the left because fuck comfort levels. He carefully undressed and peeled off all his bandages, pleased to see that the wounds underneath them were not as gnarly as he’d thought.

He stepped into the hot water and winced at the repercussions of his decision. He angled the setting to a more warm realm, versus Mordor realm, and finally let out the relaxing sigh he’d been aiming for. He hummed to some David Bowie as he soaped himself up, snapping his fingers and shaking his hips to the beat in his head.

When he declared himself clean enough, he turned the water off and shivered his way to the towels Martin had mysteriously bought, wrapping one around himself and drying his sensitive skin with limited pressure. He didn’t exactly have a change of clothes at his disposal, but he figured—possibly rudely—that these kind of things were what Martin was for.

He opened the door and peered down the hall, trying his luck because vampires have fantastic hearing. “Martin?” he asked in a low volume, prepared to raise his voice if need be.

“Yes, Louis?” Martin asked around the corner, having appeared almost instantly.

“Wow, that’s impressive. Uh, I don’t have any clothes,” he said sheepishly, unable to give any advice on what should even be done about it.

“Oh, give me one second, I’ll give you some of mine,” Martin said with a polite smile, disappearing before Louis could even try to say that it wasn’t necessary to sacrifice his own, but before he’d even finished that thought, Martin was already back. “Here you go,” he said, dropping a casual pyjama set into Louis’ suspended forearm.

“Uh...thanks, Martin. This is really nice of you,” Louis said, having the fleeting thought that he should maybe tip him, but he realized where he was and changed his mind. He didn’t have any coins in hidden places anyway.

“No problem,” Martin said, throwing a wave over his shoulder and dematerializing from the hallway.

Louis stared at the empty space for several long seconds before chuckling and retreating back into the steamy bathroom. He dropped the towel and uncaringly threw it over the shower rod, reveling in the soft cotton that slid over his skin as he got dressed. He tried to use his brush to manage his wet hair, but he gave up when the tangles were too painful. Just this once, he doesn’t need more pain.

Louis could spare no more time apart from his underground lover, and he followed Martin’s exit route to reach the stairs and ascend to the fourth floor. His feet were traveling laughably slower than his mind wanted them to go, but at least he was warm.

He slid into the mirror room and quietly shut the door behind him even though he didn’t need to, because not even an earthquake held the power to awaken the ancient night dweller. He crossed the floor in five excited leaps, yanking the trapdoor up and strongly inhaling the waft of air that billowed up into the atmosphere from below. The addictive scent that couldn’t be anything else on this planet but Harry. Apparently vampires aren’t the only ones with keen senses of smell. Louis would know this scent anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's kinda short, but I think next one will make up for it ;)


	10. The Room of Black and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boi...

~~~

 

_“I’m not Auron,” Hadrian roared for the seventh time, shoving his way past the vampires in the Empire with Alexander in tow to find his twin brother. They’d traveled to Rome the next night following their murder of his disciple in France, and so far the only thing they’d endured was false identifications._

_“My love, should you be revealing yourself so openly? They may have orders to destroy you,” Alexander whisper-shouted, moving his feet as quickly as he could to match the Roman’s stride because every one step of Hadrian’s long legs was equivalent to four or five of Alexander’s rushed ones._

_“Do I look like I care?” Hadrian hissed back, turning corners without fear of enemies on the other side and relentlessly shouting out loud for his “evil half.”_

_“That would be a no,” Alexander agreed grudgingly, giving up all attempts to slow Hadrian’s roll because it wouldn’t work._

_They came to a set of metal double doors, and with a short whiff of the air, Hadrian knew without a doubt that Auron would be found beyond the barrier. He reared back and busted them open with a kick of his foot, sweeping into the room and stopping short when he noticed his brother was already standing dead center with his arms crossed over his chest._

_“Hello, little brother,” Auron said monotonously, a flavourful hint of malice in his smirk._

_“Auron, you gutless slug,” Hadrian snarled, stepping forward to bash his skull in until Alexander halted him in his tracks with a gentle hand on his upper arm._

_“Oh?” Auron chuckled, waving Alexander off as if he were one of his own guards. In his opinion, he no longer needed any help against his loud little brother. Though how he would fare against the unfamiliar Elder was another matter. “It’s nice to see you too.”_

_Hadrian shrugged Alexander off his arm and took his hand instead, subtly pushing his love behind him so Auron would have someone to go through first. “Don’t bullshit me, Auron. What the fuck are you doing? Rome isn’t an Empire anymore, stop trying to dig up the long dead past, it’s never going to work. That’s not how the human world works. There is no consistency! This is futile, degrading, and utterly disrespectful,” he growled, begging Auron to procure some crap excuse as to why it was a noble and honourable thing to do._

_“Never going to work?” Auron emphasized, stretching his arms out to prove their very position was proof of the contrary. “Is it not?”_

_“It’s not permanent,” Alexander supplied, getting understandably ignored by the fiery mirror images._

_“No, because I’m going to stop you,” Hadrian snapped, bending at the knees to leap toward his brother and end him once and for all._

_“The humans will stop you themselves,” Alexander interrupted instantly before things had the chance to get ugly, emerging from behind his unneeded protector and stealing the spotlight of the debate. “They’re not going to remain quiet and complacent under a leader who never ages. If you haven’t noticed, nobody believes in the Gods anymore, your immortality will not go so easily accepted. Not to mention we’re not going to let you expose our kind by the means of a greedy power trip you just couldn’t help barraging on,” he said in irritation, ending the rant with a heavy and exasperated sigh. This is not how he envisioned spending the next chapter of his life._

_“Who are you, anyway?” Auron inquired in lieu of answering, looking Alexander up and down and not furthering his presumptuous questioning because the vampire’s superior age was getting more obvious by the moment._

_“Don’t mind me,” Alexander said breezily, waving his arm in a gesture of nonchalance and walking off to sit himself down in the nearest chair so he could watch the heated bickering from a more comfortable position._

_“Hard not to,” Auron argued, following Hadrian’s companion with his eyes and fighting the urge to lick his lips and drop to his knees to give the enchanting immortal anything he wanted._

_“Stop gawking at my lover like that, you look like a whore,” Hadrian barked, getting his priorities a bit misaligned because Auron lusting after Alexander was simply unacceptable. Can you blame him?_

_“That’s rather harsh,” Auron gasped innocently, averting his gaze and locking eyes with his raging brother instead—not much of a pleasant comparison._

_“Never mind all that. Do you have any idea how stupid you are? Please, I need you to tell me, I wanna hear it. I smell you all over your human servants, this could be a huge fucking problem,” Hadrian sighed, losing the fight in the presence of his flesh and blood and taking a seat next to his gorgeous soulmate to cool off._

_“So I can’t rule Rome under false pretenses just because I drink from my slaves? Every single one of which I own completely? They’ll never see the outside life, where is the crime in indulging?” Auron challenged, getting sidetracked now that the prospect had been mentioned, and calling for one of said slaves while Hadrian groaned to the ceiling._

_“It has more to do with your extremely poor leadership skills. Why do you think Rome went to me?” Hadrian coldly reminded, almost going too far but Auron’s slave shuffled into the room at that exact moment, and all hurt was temporarily forgotten._

_“I was different back then,” Auron neutrally defended, patting his lap and pulling the young boy into it while he sniffed up the side of his heavily-bitten neck. “I get so sick of the ones I’ve marked every inch of,” he noted, pretending he didn’t hear the timid sob of self-hatred from the servant boy._

_“You seem the same to me,” Hadrian argued pointedly, averting his gaze when his brother’s hand crept a little too high up his slave’s thigh._

_“If you’d let me, I’d show you,” Auron suggested, nosing at the boy’s neck and groaning as he decided to push him away until he’d gotten this situation under control first. He’d have time for the little beauty later._

_“What, prove your competence?” Hadrian asked in the most judgmental tone he could, reaching a hand back and holding the side of Alexander’s arm when Auron stood from his seat._

_“Will you allow it or not?” Auron asked patiently, flicking his eyes from his younger brother and his mysterious Elder lover, eager to get close to them both so he could assess their shared power and test it against his own._

_Hadrian looked over his shoulder at the unreadable expression on Alexander’s face, trying to decide what the best course of action was. Trusting Auron could lead to wave after wave of regretful disappointment, but it may be their only chance at getting into his head and turning him down another path from the greedy one he currently skips across. Alexander merely shrugged his shoulders like he frequently does when decisions aren’t his to make, so Hadrian went out on a limb and chose to stay._

_“Kill even one human, and the deal is off. Don’t think I won’t know, or that you’ll be able to hide it from me. You kill humans, and I kill you,” Hadrian threatened, practically smelling Alexander’s proud smile behind him, even though his back was turned._

_“Very well,” Auron quipped effortlessly, as if that wasn’t a highly inconvenient term to obey. “I’ll feed, but they shall all live, you have my word. You’re welcome to stay here, in case you had confusion about your future whereabouts. Perhaps your old room would suffice? Whatever you so desire. I’ll put you on my council as well; anything to prove I’ve changed,” he declared, throwing attractive promises out one by one in the hopes of winning his coveted guests over._

_“We’re not interested in positions of power,” Hadrian immediately shot down, holding his brother to the lowest of standards because he obviously still has an unhealthy obsession with supremacy and ownership. “This is a test of worth. I’ll be seeing you,” he finished, turning away with such speed that his cape whipped up behind him. He took hold of Alexander’s hand and led him out of the room, making a beeline for his old quarters and admittedly nurturing a feeling of excitement over being reunited with its familiar interior._

_“Looking forward to it,” Auron shouted after them, shutting his doors with a forceful foot and catching his slave boy in the corner of his eye. That later time he mentioned would be now._

 

_~~~_

 

_“Well, he was pleasant,” Alexander lied to ease Hadrian’s tension, adoring the way his lover was walking around the room they’d fled to like it was the greatest treasure in the world. “I like this place, though.”_

_“It’s exactly as I left it. With some things missing of course, but Auron planned this down to the last detail. It’s been so long, and to restore it so closely…” he trailed, forgoing his dumbfounded exploration to devour the sight of Alexander instead. “Though I must admit, you being in it is an upgrade I never could have imagined when I truly lived here,” he breathed in fascination, leaping across the floor to land on the bedding with his partner in forever._

_“Do you think Auron planning so much is suspicious?” Alexander asked seriously, hesitant to dive into sex before they talked things over._

_“He’s always been a tad questionable,” Hadrian recounted, accepting the importance of discussion over fondling._

_“Do you trust him?”_

_“Of course not—” Hadrian replied instantly, falling down onto his back and staring at the cracked and weathered ceiling. Apparently some things had changed after all. “—but this is the only way to watch him. If we do this right, we can easily loosen his crushing grip over Rome.”_

_“Turn it back into Italy?” Alexander added, laying himself down parallel with Hadrian to stare at the same sight._

_There was no question that Hadrian was furious about having to rid the world of Rome once more, but he would rather see it gone than to watch its reputation be slandered by his own mirrored likeness. “I’ll see it done,” he declared vehemently, already devising a myriad of ways they could ensure their victory._

_“I think giving him a chance is the right decision,” Alexander mused with heavy emphasis on the world ‘think.’ “And I know it wasn’t an easy one to make. I’m proud of you.”_

_Hadrian would have choked on his spit from that statement if he needed to breathe, and he rolled onto his side to peer into his love’s eyes. “Proud of me? From anyone else, that would be such a patronizing and degrading thing to say. But coming from you... Thank you,” he whispered, diving forward to press their lips together because no matter what the year happened to be, every kiss with his Alexander was like the first. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t end in bloodshed,” he said as an afterthought against Alexander’s mouth._

_“It probably will, won’t it?” Alexander asked realistically, holding Hadrian’s face in his hands and trying to keep him in focus without crossing his eyes because their proximity was blurring._

_“Don’t worry,” Hadrian comforted, throwing another kiss into the mix before pushing up onto his hands and hovering above Alexander’s body. “I’ll protect you.”_

 

~~~

 

“Harry!” the Roman heard being yelled from somewhere outside himself, dragging him back into reality whether he wanted it or not. He opened his eyes to find his Louis on top of his torso, grasping his shoulders with teary eyes and a worried face.

“Louis,” he croaked like a frog, flipping them over to reenact the last image of the memory his dreams had given to him. He didn’t realize he was crying at all until the drops hit Louis’ cheeks, rolling down both sides and giving him the same appearance. “What happened?” he asked groggily, taking in the blue and red pinstripe pyjama suit on Louis’ body, that couldn’t belong to _anyone_ but Martin, and resisting the urge to snort.

“You were crying in your sleep, and like, whining, and I just didn’t want you to suffer anymore. What were you dreaming about?” Louis asked, wiping Harry’s tears from his own face and then reaching up to do the same with Harry’s.

“Empty promises I couldn’t keep,” Harry said mysteriously, jumping off the bed and tipping his forehead down to knock it against a concrete pillar near the corner of the bookshelves.

Louis stared at the vampire’s solemn and hunched back for a while, aware that demanding more informative explanations was probably not the nicest decision. “Are you—do you want some of my blood?” he offered meekly, opening up the possibility because so far, it was the only thing Louis knew to give that would cheer Harry up.

“No thank you,” Harry replied quietly, one side of his mouth turning up in admiration of Louis’ helpful suggestion. He just couldn’t take anymore at the moment; he deserved to be without love and affection for all the people he’d failed.

Louis didn’t know how to respond to the rejection and he sat frozen like the statue in the Rome room until Harry’s arm reached back to beckon him with one subtle finger. He popped up to his feet and took heightened steps to the pillar, mindful of the obstructive clutter that could be on the floor.

Harry took his hand when he felt it brush his and led them both upstairs, out of the room of consciousness entrapment, unwilling to spend one more second there until he inevitably had to again. They blasted up through the trapdoor and Harry took his human in his arms, holding him close as he dropped from floor to floor until his feet landed on the first and bottom.

“Well, that was—” Louis began, his stomach lurching from all the sudden descensions. “—pleasant,” he settled on, noticing but not mentioning the strange wide-eyed look he received from Harry.

“You keep fucking doing it! Repeating things…” Harry accused, shaking his head and walking off into the kitchen without Louis, leaving him to timidly follow behind, unsure of whether he’d be allowed or not.

Louis took a seat in the corner at the table as silently as he could manage, watching as Harry unlocked the fridge and further did away with the chains entirely, scooping at least eight blood bags into his arm and slamming the door shut. Louis flinched at the sudden sound and reopened his eyes without another second’s delay, just in time to witness the over-indulgence Harry was evidently partaking in.

Louis’ eyes became more squinted the more he observed Harry downing blood that wasn’t his, hating every bag that hit the floor with an intensity that shocked even himself. Why is he so mad?

It’s actually rather simple. Considering Louis is Harry’s one and only human blood-partner, this reprehensible action was essentially equivalent to being cheated on right before Louis’ very eyes, and he was not taking it well. “I hope that’s just _delicious_ ,” Louis sneered to Harry’s upturned profile, sending large waves of anger at the vampire and hoping he felt them.

Harry’s eyes opened and he slid them to the side to zoom in on Louis, finishing the last bag with haste and gasping for air. Facing his Louis head-on, he suddenly pieced everything together, and he blanched when he realized the extent of what he’d just done. “Louis, I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, stepping on the discarded bags on his way to comfort his human. “I wasn’t thinking about how that would make you feel, and I take full responsibility for any feelings of inferiority you were burdened with,” he stressed, taking Louis’ blushing cheeks in his palms and nuzzling their noses together in apology.

“It’s okay,” Louis sighed, turning his face away and visibly moping about it. “If you don’t want me, that’s fine. If that blood is better than my blood, then there’s nothing I can do about it. Go ahead, keep—”

“Louis, stop,” Harry interrupted with careful exasperation, kneeling down and turning Louis’ face back to him. “It’s not okay, and we both know that. I should have treated that situation better. I need you to understand that I had a rough dream, and I just didn’t want to be a predator for a short while. It has more to do with me and my issues than you, and you know I’m head over heels for your blood. I won’t do that again, however. I promise,” he swore, giving Louis the brightest smile he could muster under the circumstances.

Louis couldn’t refuse the look of hope in Harry’s shining eyes, and his shoulders dropped in defeat as he let go of his grudge. “No, it really is fine. That was such a stupid thing to get mad over,” he laughed, cutting himself off when Harry grabbed his wrists and pulled them under his chin.

“No, it wasn’t stupid,” Harry contended, kissing both of Louis’ hands and running his thumbs over the same place. “You are bound to me, and I to you. Of course you would see that as an act of unfaithful betrayal. It was a completely natural and expected reaction, I just didn’t think about it until the damage had already been done. Am I forgiven?”

Louis blushed again and nodded his head, fighting the smile he felt creep onto his lips. “Yeah,” he excused, full-out grinning when Harry sighed in happy relief. He was barely given a moment of preparation before Harry’s lips came crashing against his, but he molded his own into the kiss and wrapped his arms around the vampire’s neck, content to be devoured in other ways.

However, he definitely had things to talk about, so with a heavy heart, Louis broke the kiss and scooted back in his chair so he could have some room to think. “Harry—” he began, making it initially clear that he had something to say.

“What is it, babe?” Harry asked curiously, rising from his knelt position and pulling up a chair to sit across from Louis.

“I have a question…or more of a request, actually,” Louis stuttered, asking the heavens how he should go about this topic and cursing them when he didn’t get any help.

“I’m sure I have an answer,” Harry replied easily, unknowing of Louis’ inquiry, but confident that his human would see no resistance from him.

“Ahah,” Louis forcefully chuckled, clearing his throat to get it over with. “So I kind of told my best friend Niall that I had a boyfriend—”

“Does boyfriend mean what it vaguely sounds like?” Harry asked to clarify he understood before Louis continued.

“Lover,” Louis reiterated nervously.

“Mmm…continue,” Harry responded, trying to seem as approachable and encouraging as possible.

“And he thinks I’ve been acting negatively, or at least weirdly different because of it…” he paused again, gathering all his thoughts into one succinct row of sentences he could dish out.

“Yes?” Harry pried, giving Louis the push he needed to present the proposition that was hanging in the air.

“Fuck, okay. I kind of told him that he’d—okay, I promised him without shadow of a doubt that he could meet you. I don’t think it will fix everything, but it would definitely help. I didn’t say anything specific about you, only that your name is Harry and that we are together? I’m sorry I lied, I just had to get the pressure off of me,” he finished in a rush, unable to meet Harry’s eyes because he was afraid of what he might find.

“Lied?” Harry repeated skeptically, winning the prized eye contact with his Louis once again. “You lied? Did you…” he mused thoughtfully, laughing when he heard Louis’ blood quicken in anxiety. “My name _is_ in fact Harry…” he noted as he dropped to his knees and pulled Louis’ hips forward across the chair so that he could press their pelvises together. “And are we not _in fact_ lovers?” he challenged against Louis’ collarbone, sending all sorts of tingles across his skin from the warm breath of the question.

“Well—” Louis gritted from out of his throat when he had enough breath for words. “—so, are we then?”

“Oh, my sweet Louis,” Harry cooed, pulling him out of the chair and into the middle of the kitchen where he dipped him down like he would if they were ballroom dancing. “How shall I profess it to you? What will you believe? Would you like me to use your terms? Going together? Going steady? Boyfriend?” he listed, holding the back of Louis’ head so he didn’t have to hold it up himself.

“Any of those will work,” Louis squeaked with wide eyes, keeping his hollar of surprise inside as Harry lifted him back into an upright position and took a knee before him instead.

“Very well, my love,” Harry agreed, grabbing Louis’ right hand and holding it between both of his. “Will you go exclusively steady together with me as my one and only boyfriend?” he proposed, mentally patting himself on the back for incorporating human marriage methods.

“Of course you’d use all of them,” Louis muttered, rolling his eyes and training them right back on Harry’s face.

“Answer the question,” Harry whined, a tiny pout forming on his vulnerable face.

“Yes, obviously,” Louis accepted, following Harry’s face as it rose up to be up higher than his own.

“Good,” Harry said with a professional and curt nod, unsure of what latter traditions came after the formation of that bond. “Now we really won’t be lying to Niall.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Louis giggled, returning to his chair to sit down and mull over their official title together.

“When will he be here?” Harry asked, close to making hurried preparations for an imminent visit.

“Oh, no, tomorrow evening,” Louis rushed to say, stopping Harry’s fretful dash in its tracks.

“Hmm…depending on the hour, I may be asleep as you know. Make him feel at home, and I’ll be out the moment I wake.”

“Got it. Also—” Louis continued, one more important thing to be tackled before they could have the night to themselves.

“Yes?” Harry asked fondly, enjoying his lover’s embarrassment all too much.

“Ugh, this one’s worse,” Louis groaned into his hands, hooking one leg on top of the other and crossing his arms petulantly. He hated this.

“Do tell,” Harry suggested in a tone that was bordering on seductive.  

“Today, in history class—”

“Ooh, I can’t wait,” Harry interrupted, shutting himself up so Louis could get it out.

“Right okay,” Louis snapped, resuming his cut-off speech and abandoning all of his pride with it. “Mr. Fucking Chilton was talking a bunch of shit about you, and I defended you as vaguely as I could, more than once, and well…things escalated, and I was eventually given not only detention, but I also have a—an essay to write about you, since I ‘love speaking for you so much,’” he admitted, cringing under Harry’s abrasive cackling. “Hey, I’m serious! I need help! It's five pages and due tomorrow.”

It took Harry quite a long time to settle his laughter, but he couldn’t exactly be blamed for it; Louis getting stuck writing an essay about none other than Hadrian himself was the most hilariously unfortunate and priceless coincidence yet. “I’m sorry, truly, I just…” he paused, getting out the last of his laughter before he got serious. “Why don’t you give me your notebook, and I’ll write the essay? But you must promise me that you will not read it yourself. Just hand whatever I give to you over to your teacher. You can’t see it beforehand,” he said naughtily, blatantly up to no good, but Louis couldn’t deny his desire to participate.

“Okay, deal,” Louis said, shooting up and running to the front door to snatch his bag. He returned to the kitchen and dropped it under the archway, revealing the notebook he’d taken ahold of. “Here,” he said, extending the spiraled pages to Harry so it could get positively desecrated with impressive vocabulary and astounding literary diction.

Harry took the book and grabbed a pen from one of his drawers, strolling back to the kitchen table as he stared at the empty page, wondering how in the world he would begin this. He slammed his right foot onto the chair he was sitting on so that his knee not only made the perfect backboard for the flimsy notebook, but also completely blocked Louis’ intrusive view.

“Damn you,” Louis growled lightheartedly, fetching his own neglected homework while Harry took on the most difficult of all assignments. Contracting his endless life into a few short and inclusive pages.

 

\---

 

It had been close to fifteen minutes of wordless peace wherein Harry furiously wrote the essay and Louis tried to focus on his homework instead of Harry, but that was a futile attempt. The way Harry’s eyebrows would curve and scrunch while he thought about what to write was hypnotizing, and don’t get Louis started on the occasional lip biting.

The second that Louis’ eyes finally landed on and interpreted the next question of his homework page, Harry’s telephone rang and broke their silence like a wrecking ball, propelling Louis’ butt two feet above his seat. “Jesus!” Louis cried, grasping his chest and slamming his textbook shut—he’d had enough of that anyway.

“Nope, just the phone,” Harry teased, trying his hand at apparent mediocre humour, if Louis’ deadpanned expression was proof of his inadequacy.

“I hate you,” Louis muttered, swallowing around the thumping pulse that was lodged in his throat.

“Are you gonna get that, or are you just going to let it ring?” Harry asked without taking his eyes off the essay, still writing it with impressive diligence for someone who wasn’t originally burdened with the problem.

“You want me to…okay,” Louis ended up agreeing, scooting his chair backward and walking to the wall where the telephone sat vibrating itself against its handle and dancing in impatient siren-screaming. “Hello?” he called into the receiver, holding the gadget to the side of his face with both hands so his sweaty palms wouldn’t drop it—that sudden ringing really had scared the life out of him.

“No way! Who is _this_?” a silky voice responded, obviously in mild surprise and approval that a voice other than Harry’s had answered.

Harry breathily chuckled into Louis’ notebook at the sound of Zayn’s incorrigible voice directed at his Louis—Zayn would never let him hear the end of this.

“Who is this?” Louis asked back with narrowed eyes at Harry’s smirking and averted face, recalling his Mother’s lifelong advice to never reveal things about yourself to total strangers, and also realizing he still hadn’t talked to her yet after moving away from home. He would do it soon, or he’s the worst son in the world.

“My, my, my,” the voice responded in interest, keeping all hums of arousal deep within himself; if this voice belonged to a someone who belonged to Harry, shameless flirting could rapidly turn into the end of his life. “My name is Zayn, little cupcake. Tell me, is Harry around?” he asked, slapping himself for flirting anyway. It’s just who he is.

“Yeah, he is. Do you wanna talk to him?” Louis asked, praying that the voice wanted to talk to Harry, because he didn’t know how much more of this weird conversation he could handle.

“Sure, munchkin. Oh, you just sound so adorable, I can’t wait to meet you. I’m coming over tonight, tell Harry that I said ‘you’re welcome,’” Zayn said cryptically, immediately getting challenged by the human and loving every second.

“Tell him yourself,” Louis snapped, walking over as he stretched the spiral cord, thrusting the phone into Harry’s chest. “It’s Zayn,” he announced agitatedly. “He says you’re welcome, that I sound adorable, and that he’s coming over.”

Harry laughed and took the phone from Louis’ hands, mouthing a condescending ‘I heard him, thank you’ to Louis before fixing his attention to his comrade on the line. “A-neg, right?” he spoke plainly, hoping that Zayn would keep it short and sweet over the phone.

“Yeah, whole box,” Zayn verified, sniffing and clearing his throat before going in for the kill. “You have _so much_ explaining to d—”

“Just hurry up,” Harry interrupted, handing the phone back to Louis so he could kindly return it to its designated spot.

“Did I hear A-negative?” Louis asked curiously as he hung up the phone, his irritation evaporating as it was replaced with flattered approval.

“Yes, you did, _cupcake_ ,” Harry teased, leaving his seat at the table to wrap Louis in his arms and rock them side to side. “That type is the only one I will ever have in this house now. It will be there just in case anything happens to you and you need some, or if you are not around for unknown reasons and I get famished,” Harry explained, his hands traveling down Louis’ front to the tops of his thighs.

Louis shuddered against Harry and tilted his head up to try and meet his green eyes, turning around when he was unsuccessful because the eye contact was necessary—he could never get enough. “I thought you didn’t get famished. I thought you didn’t need blood like food?” he accused, subtly pressing himself harder against Harry’s front.

“Ah, that may be true, but you make it seem that way, my temptress. Your blood gives me more life than any in my whole history, so it’s entirely possible that I shall truly die without it,” he murmured, not fooling Louis one bit, but undoubtedly pleasing his mind.

“Then I’ll always be here,” Louis pledged, holding his breath in anticipation when Harry swooped in closer to his face.

“I know you will,” Harry agreed, holding Louis under his chin but not connecting their lips like Louis wanted him to. “I’m almost finished,” he added, walking back to the table and picking up the essay where he’d left off, amazing and annoying Louis all at once, but at least he would have good grades…maybe.

Louis’ mind was swimming around meeting one of Harry’s friends as the essay was being completed; just what kind of company does Harry keep? What would he be like? What kind of history do they have together? Is he a threat to their relationship? Do they have romantic feelings for each other? Have they fucked? All kinds of questions were infiltrating his easily defensive mind and setting his protective instincts ablaze. Harry was his, no matter what.

Harry caught his attention when he leaned back in satisfaction after finishing whatever he’d written, but Louis was confused when he disappeared and came back with an envelope, subsequently folding the essay to put inside of it. He watched as Harry licked the envelope and sealed it shut, writing something on the outside that was presumably an official address to Mr. Chilton.

“Here,” Harry said, handing the lettered essay over and showcasing a shit-eating grin.

“What did you do?” Louis asked warily, wondering if he would automatically fail the class from whatever content this essay held.

“Just gave my perspective on some things. Let me know if he gives you horrendous markings, and I’ll write an apology letter to go along with it,” Harry suggested, beckoning Louis over and pulling him into his lap, making him scramble to hold on to the envelope he was given.

“I’m very concerned for my future,” Louis muttered, resting the essay on the table and curling into Harry’s welcoming chest. “How long until Zayn—?”

The ending to that question was an obvious one, but he was swiftly cut off by harsh knocking upon the front doors, and Harry seemed to have expected it.

“That’ll be him,” Harry informed needlessly, lifting Louis as he stood and gently setting him down onto his feet.

“I’ll just…stand here then,” Louis said to the air after Harry dashed out to the front room. His nerves were in a knot that weighted his stomach as he pondered how this interaction would go, but he had Harry with him, and that was all the strength he really needed. He heard some muffled greetings from his spot in the kitchen, and he chose to sit back down so he wouldn’t appear so awkward when they entered.

“Just put them in the fridge, I’ll be right back,” Harry said, his voice growing closer until it quickly softened with his leap up to the second story.

“You got it,” Zayn chirped, stopping short once he passed the archway and beheld the owner of the sweet telephone voice and scent in the corner of the room. “Hey there, cutie,” he cooed, his arms full with a stack of cardboard boxes. He didn’t waste any time sauntering to the fridge, and he opened it with his foot as he carefully set the boxes down at his feet.

“Hi,” Louis replied nervously, watching him tear the taped boxes open with a long and sharp extended claw just like Harry had.

“Come here often?” Zayn chuckled, looking over his shoulder and giddily watching the human squirm under the pressure.

“Zayn,” Harry warned darkly as he entered the kitchen, Martin trailing in after him and helping Zayn unload the boxes.

“I’m just being polite, Harry,” Zayn assured, letting Martin take over with a pat on his shoulder and joining the two at the kitchen table. “Which one of you is going to tell me?” he asked knowingly, glancing between the two and smiling like one would in his nosy position.

“Alright, Zayn. I’ll only say this once. This is Louis, and he is absolutely and wholly mine. You can’t touch him, you can’t sniff his skin, you can’t speak overly flirtatiously to him, and you certainly can’t have any of his blood. It belongs to me,” Harry announced, refusing to let Zayn do whatever he wants this time.

“Oh, alright. No more ‘cupcake,’” Zayn relented, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on top of them as he pushed his elbows outward on the table. “But you still have to tell me.”

Louis knew that Harry could probably word it better, but he was through with acting like a jumpy stray cat, so he made his introduction a memorable one. Maybe then Zayn would stop treating him like a naïve child. “I was getting chased through the woods by my classmates because I’m a faggot, and I slipped down a worthy opponent of a cliff and messed up my leg pretty badly. I walked through the forest until I found Harry’s mansion, and despite the rumours and legends that surround it, I broke in and dressed my wound, but I unintentionally grabbed an Elder vampire’s attention in doing so. I was told very clearly to get the fuck out immediately, and I did, but I kept coming back for some reason, and then we eventually met, and I love him,” he informed, making a small face of embarrassment at that last part, but Harry’s reaction made his worries meaningless.

“And I love you, my sweet Louis,” Harry seconded, leaning over and kissing up the side of his neck regardless of how closely they were already being watched.

“Harry, Harry, _Harry_ ,” Zayn congratulated, clapping his hands and hopping up and down in his chair. “He’s absolutely perfect for you, isn’t he? Oh, how long I’ve been telling you to go out and find someone, and you finally did!”

“Technically he found me,” Harry corrected, tucking a strand of Louis’ hand behind his hair and letting his hand slide down Louis’ back and cup his arse.

Louis gasped and couldn’t help gulping at the pleasurable sensation of Harry’s touch, but he fought against any moaning in their present company. He couldn’t imagine Zayn’s reaction would be an appropriate one.

“Well, I’m very happy for you two. Really I am, Louis. I was starting to think this fossil would be a lonely hermit forever,” Zayn whispered to Louis, covering one side of his mouth as if his words would be hidden from Harry.

“Hey!” Harry interjected in mock offense, slapping his fingertips down on the table to solicit a great amount of respect. “I might be a fossil, and I may have been a hermit, and of course I was lonely, but…wait, was that all you said?” he teased, throwing a wink at the indignant and spluttering Martin.

“Lonely! I say,” Martin objected, throwing the last bag into the fridge without caring about where it ended up and slamming the door shut, pouting at Harry until he couldn’t take it anymore and breaking into a smile instead.

All four creatures erupted into unanimous laughing, and the initial layer of ice seemed to have been broken. With the awkward introductions out of the way, the only thing left to do was get to know Zayn, and Louis was happy to maybe learn some secrets about his love that he wouldn’t find out from anyone else. Zayn had a personality that minorly resembled Niall’s, and if it really was as similar as it appeared, then gossiping was an addiction that couldn’t go neglected for long.

 

\---

 

Zayn, Harry, and Louis were sitting in the living room with two glasses of blood and a cup of apple juice on the coffee table—you can guess what was for whom. The fireplace had been lit by Martin even though Louis was the only one in the house who would notice and appreciate changes in temperature, and Louis had loved being warm and cozy as he listened to the most intriguing conversations he’d ever heard.

“—Yeah, but then the Great Depression made things rather easy. Pretty bland, though,” Zayn said in reference to Harry shuddering over those dark days in America’s history.

“When were you born, Zayn?” Louis asked out of curiosity, wondering what kind of monumental events Zayn had been around to witness.

“1809,” Zayn declared proudly, not impressing any of his company.

“Aww, you’re just a _baby_ ,” Louis cooed, keeping his composure and refusing to break character as Harry guffawed to his left.

“Ex _cuse_ you!” Zayn defended, setting his glass down before he sloshed its contents everywhere while frantically talking with his arms—he does that a lot. “ _You’re_ the _baby_ here, little human boy. When were _you_ born, hmm? Eighteen years ago? I was born the same year that Abraham Lincoln was, how ‘bout that?” he bragged, turning his nose up and mentally flattening his ruffled feathers.

“Yeah, and Harry was born just a little while after Jesus,” Louis shot back with just as much pride, cuddling into Harry’s side when the vampire pulled him in lovingly.

“Oh, sure! Compare me to an unchallengeable Elder, that feels great,” Zayn groaned, smirking at the pair through his frown. “He’s very loyal, isn’t he?” he asked the smitten Harry, wondering which one would win in a battle of compliments and appraisals.

“He knows who his master is,” Harry replied into Louis’ eyes, slowly lifting one of his warm wrists to his mouth to run his nose along the thumping pulse beneath the skin.

Louis’ breath caught in his throat and he felt his heart quicken, trying to keep up with the rapid synapses that were firing in his brain. All he wanted was Harry’s fangs in his wrist, but he also didn’t want to moan like a slut in front of the pridefully perverted Zayn Malik.

Harry didn’t care either way and pierced right into Louis’ wrist with his extended teeth, closing his eyes and drowning everything out that wasn’t the taste of his lover’s blood or the sounds of pleasure he was making. He knew his Louis was uncomfortable with Zayn being in the room, and as much as he’d have to get used to being fed from in the presence of other vampires, he certainly didn’t have to suffer the spotlight of Zayn’s hungry eyes for the very first time.

Louis hadn’t been able to help the sharp gasp when he was initially bitten, and every squeaky and whimper-like noise made after that wasn’t his fault either. Nobody in his circumstance would be able to think straight with such ecstasy coursing through their nervous system, and the only background thought he had was that he wished they were alone, but at the end of the day, he didn’t care. He opened his eyes and smiled lazily when Harry seemed to read his thoughts and stood in front of Zayn to completely block his view and have Louis all to himself. Harry always seemed to know what he wanted, down to the last fleeting idea, and Louis henceforth swore that one day, he would be knowledgeable enough to return all of these favours.

“Harry, I do get it, you know,” Zayn sighed loudly, rolling his eyes and inhaling his glass of blood before the smell of Louis drove him mad with jealousy. Zayn would never attack something that belonged to an Elder, and Harry knew he didn’t have anything to worry about. So why the everloving fuck was he being tortured like this?

He continued to avert his eyes and make silent gestures at Martin until the butler scurried off to refill his painfully empty glass for him. The animals on the couch were in their own little world, and just when Zayn was about to yell for their attention again, Harry shamelessly moaned into the room and collapsed onto the couch next to his spent human. Zayn couldn’t help his gaze from wandering to both of their typical erections, and of course he didn’t miss the glint of blood slowly dripping from Louis’ opened wrist like invaluable beads of pure crimson gold. He took the glass thrust under his nose by Martin and knocked it back like humans treat their alcohol, wishing that it had the same effects of delirium.

“I know you know,” Harry belatedly responded, wiping his mouth though no blood had been smeared and resting his palm over Louis’ bite while he snapped at Martin for some bandages.

“Nice performance, I’m just honoured it was on the house. Don’t look at me like that. If you wanted me to pay, you should have mentioned it on the phone,” Zayn yawned, despising being the third wheel when if he’d been with any of his other friends, he’d have been a few pints deep into a human by now.

Harry chuckled and opened his mouth to respond to Zayn’s merciless snark when Louis beat him to it.

“You know—” Louis began breathlessly, letting Harry silently wrap his wound with gauze while he leaned forward to snag Zayn’s focus. “—I have a friend you’d really be into.”

“You do, do you?” Zayn asked uninterestedly, changing his attitude completely when he realized this meant a _human_ friend.

“Mmhm, his name is Niall, and your personalities are very similar. He’s extremely strong-willed and independent. Hard to get him to do anything you want that he doesn’t, and he always has a witty comeback on the tip of his tongue. Plus, he’s blonde,” Louis listed, still trudging through his level of intoxication to get back to normality.

“And how would I meet this Niall?” Zayn inquired, not at all minding the characteristics he’d been given so far. In fact, he rather preferred them.

“Calm down, you hound. He hasn’t even met Harry yet, and that’s first. But don’t worry, Harry’s mine, so just give me some time. If Niall finds everything out, and he’s fine with it, then you can have him. But if you kill him—” he suddenly growled, standing up from the couch and wobbling on his feet while Harry made an air-cage around him, ready to catch him if he fell. “—I will shove my fist straight through that pretty brain of yours and show you what a migraine from Macedon feels like,” he threatened, letting himself get pulled back down by a speechless and flabbergasted Harry.

“What did you just say?” Zayn asked after a short giggle, originally highly amused at the tiny human’s threat, but changing his theme when he caught Harry’s serious expression. He tried to make eye contact with the Elder, but his green irises were locked onto Louis like they’d been glued there for eternity.

“What was I saying?” Louis slurred like he’d just woken up, his face illuminating like the light bulb of realization had been flicked on. “Oh yeah! If you kill him, I’ll set Harry after you. And I really don’t think you want that,” he laughed, looking between the two vampires and fidgeting from the suffocating silence. “Well I’m not _serious_ of course,” he added timidly, finally smiling when Harry distractedly kissed his temple.

“We know you’re not, sweetheart. Do me a favour and go play the piano, would you? Zayn and I have some matters to discuss, and I think we’d both benefit from having your music as a soundtrack,” he suggested firmly, patting Louis’ buttcheeks until the human had no choice but to flee, lest he be left with stinging cheeks for ten minutes.

“You don’t know your own strength,” Louis muttered fondly, rubbing his cheeks as he retreated into the music room and walked inside, accompanied by the blaring creak of the door’s hinges.

The vampires waited until the keys of the grand piano began to sing before leaning closer together, whispering amongst each other because they knew Louis wouldn’t be able to discern the discussion with such inferior senses.

“Okay, what the _hell_ was that? Your face got weird, and then he forgot what he—”

“There’s almost no way that I can explain this,” Harry interrupted, his heart beating way too fast from the amount of blood he took in the short span of time that he’d done it.

“You’re gonna have to try,” Zayn argued demandingly, basically floating over the coffee table to sit side-by-side with the guilty Elder.

“Alright, you lummox. I have the strongest suspicion, with a vast amount of evidence to back up my claim, that Louis is somehow connected to Alexander,” he confessed, feeling a bit of relief to finally get this off his chest to a pair of ears that weren’t Martin’s.

“What? _Your_ Alexander? _The_ Alexander?” Zayn gasped, quieting down when Harry nearly slapped him across the face.

“Yes, of course,” Harry grumbled in a much lower tone, encouraging Zayn to speak in the same soft registry.

“How the shit is that possible?” the young vampire whispered, fighting to keep Harry’s present attention because he kept getting a faraway look on his face every few seconds.

“Oh, because _I_ know everything, right?” Harry asked in exasperation, continuing when he merely got a blank stare from the Pakistani. “He knows things he shouldn’t know, says things only Alexander would say, constantly has odd episodes of Alexander’s personality before forgetting everything directly afterward, plays the _piano_ like him,” he added with a forceful point to the hallway. “I don’t know how or why, but I swear, I know Alexander like the back of my hand, and he’s in that boy,” he stressed with the contagious passion of an inferno deity.

“But…but you’re _positive_ that Alexander died, right? It’s not that there’s an afterlife or anything,” Zayn reasoned like he could possibly know for certain, trusting that Harry knew was he was talking about, but finding it hard to accept right off the bat.

“ _Yes_ , you imbecile. I’m telling you that he’s still around in another’s consciousness. Louis even looks exactly like him,” he begged, hoping for magical answers that would never be found in Zayn even if he were reading them off flashcards.

“He does? You didn’t mention that part,” Zayn mused in wonderment, hushing while Louis paused his playing to start another song.

“Yeah, when I first saw him, it was so uncanny that I had to take quite a bit of time to actually face him. I see the subtle differences now that he’s been around for a while, but that doesn’t mean that the general resemblance isn’t still there,” he said with a face of many emotions, still having trouble separating the two beings _or_ putting them together. It didn’t make any sense. “Come here,” he decided, pulling Zayn up by the arm and leading him past the music room to the dead end of the hallway.

Zayn stood back as Harry used the rusted black key around his neck to open the door. “He’s fairly good at that,” Zayn noted under his breath in regards to Louis’ artistic abilities, earning a wide-eyed nod from Harry before the Roman impatiently stepped into the room. Zayn followed him in and observed the neglected belongings in fascination because his eyes had never beheld relics of such ancient time periods.

“Don’t touch anything,” Harry ordered, rushing to a far corner and returning with a covered portrait, or at least something in the shape of it.

“Wassat?” Zayn asked lazily, gesturing to the object he would obviously be shown soon regardless.

Harry rolled his eyes and yanked the sheet off of it, flicking his lighter on to brighten the area for optimum viewing.

Zayn’s jaw dropped open as he stared at a painted vampire that looked entirely too much like Louis for any skepticism to be left. He looked between Harry’s ‘see what I mean?’ face and the stoic features of Alexander, his whole world turning upside down because none of this was possible, and yet, it somehow was anyway.

“You don’t think I wouldn’t know this face enough to see it the moment I looked at Louis?” Harry asked haughtily, putting the art back into its corner and re-covering it, not even pretending to care that the sheet fell off afterward, deciding he would go back for it later.

Zayn didn’t want to respond to that snooty question because they didn’t need to further the conversation of undeserved doubt. Now they had to focus on the future—the only way out is up. “Anything in the world that explains it?” he asked hopelessly, figuring a visit to other Elders might do them some form of good, but nobody knew where they were. Hard to find, those pesky Elders.

“Not to either of us, there’s not. I don’t know what it means, and I certainly don’t know how to handle it. Louis sometimes faints from these odd attacks of the mind, and it could be dangerous for him if he’s outside my immediate reach,” he whined, full of reasonable concern for his naïve and careless human.

“Is their blood similar? Are they related?” Zayn supplied, going through every possible factor that could shed some light on this unheard of mystery.

“I never tasted Alexander as a human, I met him several centuries later. You know vampire blood is completely different, I wouldn’t be able to detect any trace of it. No, it’s nothing like it at all, but that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things,” he shot down.

“Harry…it’s not fair to Louis if you keep him around just because he reminds you of—”

“Stop right there!” Harry snapped unnecessarily loudly, not noticing that Louis’ playing had haphazardly stopped with an accidental plethora of sharp and flat notes. “I love Louis for himself, don’t think for a second that the similarities are the driving force of my adoration for him. He’s his own person, I’m just confused by the many number of puzzling coincidences surrounding him. I’ll get to the bottom of it if it’s the last thing I do, but he will always be Louis to me,” he finished in a huff, his cheeks blushing when he dumbly realized that Louis probably heard every word of that.

Zayn said nothing because he’d been aware of Louis’ eavesdropping the whole time, and now was not the time to add anything that would incriminate them further.

“What’s going on?” Louis asked down the hall, his nervous face peeking out from the doorway of the music room, gazing in want at the opened door that had made an appearance in a large number of his dreams. _The door_.

“Nothing,” Harry said gruffly, shoving Zayn out of the dark room and pulling it closed behind him.

“I’m absolutely going to go now,” Zayn chimed pleasantly, knowing the sooner he left, the sooner these two would have to talk about what was just overheard.

“Fine, get out,” Harry said with an annoyed wave of his arm, sweeping past Louis and grazing his face with a gentle hand on the way, making it clear that his irritation was not directed at him—rather his idiot of a friend who hadn’t stopped him from outing himself, and is now being obvious as fuck about the situation without even attempting a decent cover-up.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Louis,” Zayn said formally, taking one of his musical hands and pressing a quick kiss to the back of it, walking to the front door without looking back once.

“You too,” Louis said unsurely, watching as Harry practically lifted his friend out of the mansion and started bickering with him outside. Louis had an intrusive thought that this might be his only chance at getting into that room, because he hadn’t seen Harry lock it on his way out, and his sharp attention was actually elsewhere for once. Part of Louis didn’t want to disrespect Harry’s wishes of locked things remaining untampered with, but the vampire wouldn’t understand how badly this door had been haunting Louis’ subconscious. He had to find out, and right now was most perfect time yet.

He slipped down the hall and tiptoed to the infamous door, not wasting any time in turning the handle, and holding his breath when it clicked open to allow his entry. He took a quick look behind him and reached into the room to find a light switch, squinting his eyes when the four or five chandeliers adorning the ceiling sneezed themselves awake.

He couldn’t believe the feeling of familiarity that came over him with everything in the room, but he caught himself smiling at the knickknacks and clothes like they were old friends. He walked down the far-right wall and ran his fingers across the swords and shields that were bolted to the wooden panels; evidently this room hadn’t evolved with the rest of the colourful mansion.

He suddenly heard an unexpected hint of a roaring crowd and he tried to confirm if it was coming from a hidden television, or his mind. The longer it went on, the more the voices resembled war cries than some random sport event, but it all ceased when his hand had swept across the last weapon. “The fuck,” he whispered, taking wary steps backward from the talking metal and clumsily bumping against something behind him.

He fixed his balance before chaos could ensue and turned around to see what he’d walked into, and that was when his world stopped for good. There before his very eyes stood a tall painting of an obvious vampire that looked suspiciously like himself, and he jumped back to get a better view. The brown fluffy hair of the vampire appeared just as dry and light as his, the cheekbones held the same sculpture, the nose a similar slope, but the eyes; the eyes were what was getting to him. One was a magnificent blue, and the other may as well have been black, but even though they were definitely not his, Louis still felt like he was staring at his own.

A stressed sob escaped his throat when he found the bottom of the frame to see ‘Aléxandros ho Mégas III, 1569’ inscribed into its golden border. Louis became even more petrified when he registered that his brain had just read Alexander the Great the Third in Greek without noticing the language barrier, and he couldn’t control the loud wails that bounced off the walls from his tightly-constricting lungs.

He heard a door slam in the distance and footsteps pound across the wood floors, and he turned just as Harry slid into the room and grunted in upset surprise. His immortal face showcased a puzzling combination of guilt, anger, devastation, and fierce love; Louis didn’t know which one to pay the most attention to, but his vision scarily grew dark as he was trying to figure it out.

“Louis, what are you doing in here?” Harry demanded just as Louis began to buckle under his own weight, and he flew over to catch him before he landed on a bunch of sharp-cornered chests. “Louis!” he cried as all former aggression dissipated, lowering them both onto the ground so his hands would be freed. He guided Louis to lie on his back and checked his vitals for any physical dangers, but Louis shocked him out of his skin when he reached up and slapped two forceful hands onto his face.

“I know who I am,” he grunted weakly, using Harry’s face to lift himself a half-metre off the floor.

“What?” Harry tried to ask innocently, in awe that Alexander’s voice had just surfaced again like it had done before. “Is that you, Alex?” he whimpered vulnerably, staring hard into Louis’ eyes and begging the universe to explain itself.

“Have some respect for your human! We’re the _same_ , you emotionally sentimental child,” he growled back in distaste, promptly losing all grip on consciousness and falling back limply.

Harry snuck his hands behind his love’s head to prevent future bruising and dragged him off the floor to fling his ragdoll body over his shoulder. He would have time to ponder and reflect on the impossible update that had just occurred, but he needed to wake his Louis first. He ran into the kitchen and laid him down atop the table, nearly running a concerned Martin over in his mad dash to acquire smelling salts.

“What happened this time?” Martin asked the unreachable Roman, zipping to the side to avoid another distracted collision. He crowded around the table and watched Harry attempt to revive the unresponsive human, quietly slipping away when it assumedly began to work. “Tell me later,” he said to nobody, taking his leave but not going far.

Harry smiled in relief when Louis’ eyes gradually fluttered open, but he leapt back in defense when they snapped open all the way. He instantly walked back to the table and peered down at Louis’ face, his intense gaze unable to part from Louis’ newly-acquired dark-brown coloured left eye. “Louis, you—your—”

“What happened to me?” Louis moaned, trying to sit but timbering back over when a pain in his stomach twisted around unhappily.

“You went somewhere you shouldn’t have gone, and now you have features that you shouldn’t have…but I know one thing for sure,” Harry replied through his unintended flow of tears, gaining Louis’ instant concern at his unprecedented state of emotions.

“What’s that?” Louis asked, sitting up regardless of the pain and scrunching his eyebrows up in worry.

“That you found me,” Harry said, crushing his love’s frail body in a passionate embrace and sniffing around his neck like the world would end if he didn’t. “You found me.”

“I don’t know what you…what was in that room?” Louis inquired, pushing Harry away until he could look into his eyes. He’d expected a response, but when their gazes connected, it seemed to have the completely opposite effect, and Harry outright sobbed as he dropped his head onto his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked soothingly, petting Harry’s hair like he was a cat and scoping the room for any clues.

“I don’t understand you, Louis,” Harry admitted softly, massaging Louis’ upper arms as he shook his head, rolling it over Louis’ prominent collarbone.

“What’s not to understand?” Louis defended carefully, not liking the way this conversation was going one bit.

“Where would I start?” Harry chuckled dejectedly, raising his head to face those familiar eyes again. He’d mourned the act of staring into them for so long, and faced with it, he didn’t know how to feel. Part of him was over the moon with glee, but the other part understood that there was something incredibly fishy going on here, and he didn’t feel comfortable with all of the ambiguity that surrounded their lives.

“The beginning?” Louis supplied, blinking at his vampire and making the creature flinch every single time. “Okay, what’s going on?” he demanded, sliding off the table and circling Harry like a lion. Something serious was happening here, he just wished he knew.

“Follow me,” Harry said simply, holding out a cooperative hand and thankfully succeeding in pulling Louis along with him.

Louis kept his novel of questions and statements inside his mind and prayed that wherever Harry was leading him would explain at least a fraction of his behavior. They climbed the mansion all the way to the fourth floor and into the mirror room, but instead of descending to Harry’s room like Louis figured they would, the vampire instead turned the lights on and stopped in the center of the path.

“Tell me if you see anything,” Harry said unhelpfully, slowly lifting a corner of a mirror up to hook it over the back and reveal Louis to himself. There was some small chance that only Harry could see the change in eye colour, or that it was actually a figment of his hopeful imagination, so he needed Louis to have his own reaction before he spoke potential nonsense to him. But it didn't even matter at this point—staring at their own reflections in the glass side by side just like him and Alexander used to do (for vanity purposes) was jarring enough.

Louis narrowed his eyes at the limited words he was getting from Harry and bent down to study himself in the reflective glass, unsure of what he was supposed to be searching for, but aware that if it was that big of a deal, he’d definitely find out. And he did. “What the fuck?!” he shouted at himself, ripping the sheet all the way off and pressing his nose to the mirror to glare at his left eye.

“You see it too?” Harry clarified, walking around to join Louis in his self-scrutinization.

“What do you mean? Of course I bloody do,” Louis snapped, leaning into and away from the mirror like a camera zooming in and out on an image it was to capture. “What the hell happened to my eye?” he squeaked, blinking and winking at himself in a fit of panic. He probably looked absolutely ludicrous, but this was no time to worry about such things.

“If I’m right, then it went back to normal,” Harry said with a shaky voice, his lips parting in astonishment when Louis rounded on him and pierced him with those eyes directly.

“Back to normal? I don’t recall ever having a differently coloured eye, Harry,” Louis scolded anxiously, returning to the mirror and trying to slap the brown away with sharp hits to his cheek.

Harry lurched forward and caught Louis’ sore and recently-bitten wrist in his hand, spinning him around and formulating how he’d go about this. “What does the name ‘Alexander’ mean to you?” he asked, fighting the urge to cringe because Louis’ instant fury was tangible.

“Oh, you mean your one true love whom I could never amount to?” Louis spat coldly, stomping away from Harry before he could charm him into submission. “The one that you influenced to kill again when he’d been trying really hard to stay clean? The one who was always too weak to say no to you even though he was centuries older and wiser than you? The one that loved you to Olympia and back, and even let you reconnect with Auron even thought he knew it was a terrible idea? The one who promised you forever, but was too stupid to realize he was walking right into a trap, and lost you before he could even say goodbye?” Louis bellowed, breaking down into a debilitating fit of crying after his last jab had been uttered.

“Louis…” Harry whispered, taking tentative steps forward because he did not need this beauty getting spooked and fleeing. “Louis, how do you know so much?” he asked for the final time, knowing that if Louis couldn’t answer now, then it would be a long time before he would learn the truth.

“Because!” Louis sobbed, falling onto his knees and hugging himself around his middle, letting his tears drop onto the floor and leave watery polkadots all over it. “Because I have visions of him all the damn time! I see memories of you two through his eyes, and I dream about him almost every night. I just don’t say anything to you because it’s so damn humiliating. Why would I want you to know that I’m so fixated on your past love? Only sometimes I feel so close to Alexander that I nearly become him, and it just gets so fucking weird, I feel like I’m going completely mad. I’m so lost, Harry. I don’t even know who I am anymore,” he cried, accepting the pair of strong arms that wrapped around him.

“Baby, listen to me,” Harry said right into Louis’ ear, not leaving him many options but to take in every word. “You are Louis Tomlinson, and that is the one solid truth out of this. Hold on to it, because losing yourself is the beginning of the end for all who walk this Earth. You have a family, and a life, and an identity, and nothing can ever take that away from you. I love you because you won me over with your own enchanting personality and wit, and not for any other main reason,” he professed, giving a quick kiss to Louis’ dampened cheek and licking his lips to taste the enjoyable saltiness of his tears. Is that weird?

“But why do I have these visions? I hear things sometimes, like whispers and voices ringing in my head, and I can’t stop it. What’s happening to me?” he begged, sniffling as he wiped his tears because to have a useful conversation, he really did need to get a grip.

“I’m not sure why, to be wholly honest. What I do know is that for whatever reason, you have a connection to Alexander that I do not understand. Sometimes it feels like you two are both inhabiting the same body, but nothing I’ve ever heard of deems this possible. You two have the same likeness, and there are many other attributes I could mention, but you need to know that my attraction for you began far before I ever saw your face. This is an odd bonus that we will eventually uncover, but it is _not_ what binds me to you. Your blood came first,” he swore, pushing Louis’ hair out of his eyes to hold the side of his head and make himself clear.

“I know that, Harry. Besides, even if that was the reason, I think I would still be willing to fill that spot for you. You are the most beautiful, amazing, and undeniable person my usually singularly-coloured eyes have ever seen, and my love for you has no boundaries. I love you so much, Harry, and I’d do anything for you. Even if that means being somebody else,” Louis said meekly, looking everywhere but at Harry when his chin was lifted up toward the vampire’s face.

“Louis, look at me,” Harry commanded, sighing when Louis gave up the fight and obeyed him. “I won’t let you be somebody else. Whatever this connection to Alexander is, it doesn’t define who you are. _You_ do. Even with our extensive past together, I wouldn’t let him take over you, or anything else you’re worried about. I’ve come to love you, Louis. Nothing can come between that,” Harry said sternly, crashing their lips together and guiding Louis back onto his feet.

“I love you too, Harry,” Louis whined, letting go of his weight and trusting Harry would hold him up anyway.

“Good. Now let’s go down to my room so I can hold my Louis close and prove to him that this heart beats for him alone?” he temptingly suggested, already walking them toward the trapdoor because he didn’t need to see Louis’ face to know he approved—aroused moans tend to be pretty telling.

“I’m sorry I’m such a handful,” Louis said with a strong feeling of shame, wishing that he could be easygoing and full of innocent fun, but of course he had to a massive inconvenience.

“Louis, don’t be ridiculous,” Harry scolded, landing from the last step and setting about lighting candles for the human’s benefit. “You have no idea what handfuls are,” he chuckled, the pesky Zayn and all the vampires he’d ever met coming to mind.

“I just feel like I cause more trouble than I’m worth sometimes,” Louis admitted bravely, never a fan of showing weakness no matter what the relevance may be. Something he’d learned from living at his parents’ house for his whole life. Shit, he’s still gotta call his Mother.

“Your worth cannot be judged by you alone, and I do not believe anyone else could accurately assess something so intangible. But you can take it from me…you are essential to me, and in my book, that makes your worth priceless,” Harry wooed sincerely, shaking the overused match in his hand until the small flame was blown out.

Louis stared at his lover and wondered how he’d been blessed with such odds that a creature like Harry could in any dimension be considered ‘his.’ He ran out of time to question his life when Harry soundlessly came up behind him and snaked his cold arms around his torso. “You’re dead again,” Louis noted with sadness, turning in Harry’s hold to study his pale skin.

“So I am,” Harry mused, looking around at himself like he hadn’t noticed the change. “What should we do about that?” he purred with a tone full of mischief, walking Louis backward until he had no choice to fall back onto Harry’s bed.

Louis’ nerves somehow packed their bags and left under Harry’s approving gaze at the lines of his body, and he hurried to tear his shirt over his head to give Harry all the access he might desire.

Harry simply watched in interest and slowly shrugged out of his black, kimono-style robe, smirking as Louis’ eyes grew wider than his eyelids had room for. He was still caught off-guard every time he saw the black iris of Alexander within Louis’ stare, but he was a very good actor and didn’t let the effects show. He unbuttoned his blood-red overshirt and let it fall down his shoulders like water flowing through the rock formations of a river, further dilating Louis’ pupils to nearly cover their mismatched colouration.

 _Is he going to have sex with me?_ Louis wondered in his chaotic mind, a happy witness to the sight of Harry undressing for him like he was getting paid for it. Harry’s hands slid down his abdominals to reach the button of his slacks and he flicked it open with one quick movement of his thumb; this was about the time that Louis lost all sense of propriety. “You’re so fucking foxy,” he breathed, correcting himself when he remembered what time Harry was from. “Beautiful. You’re beautiful. Mesmerizing, stunning, enchanting, perfect,” he praised in quick succession, gulping when Harry’s trousers dropped like his shirt had, and the vampire moved his thick and wavy hair over his shoulder. It was just too much.

“I’m pleased that you think so,” Harry said sweetly, deciding he wouldn’t remove the last article of clothing until he could do something with what it would reveal. He floated down to his knees and crawled over to the frozen Louis, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his trousers and looking up at him through his long eyelashes. “May I?” he whispered, sliding the garment off when Louis wordlessly nodded. He thought it best to leave Louis’ underwear on as well until they were both ready, and that time would be relatively soon.

Louis sharply inhaled when Harry dragged his chilly chest across his overheating one and came face to face with him, obviously spending some time concentrating on his unnatural eyes. He’d really have some explaining to do with Niall for this. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, smiling when Harry visibly registered the question.

“Oh… I’m thinking about what I’m going to do to you tonight,” he replied honestly, only leaving out a fraction of his thoughts that had been dedicated to theorizing what Louis’ existence means.

“What are you doing to do?” Louis pressed, knowing he was stalling, but also really wanting to hear a string of sexual threats spoken to him.

“Well. First—” Harry began, lowering himself down to nuzzle into Louis’ invitingly stretched neck and breathe in the scent that lied beneath it. “—I’m going to bite you,” he informed softly, extending his fangs and completing step one before Louis could even begin a reply.

Louis squeaked even though he’d expected the sharp pain from the sound of the fangs being drawn, and he felt his cock grow to its full hardness in just a few short moments. Typical when you’re being pleasured by Hadrian, though.

Harry took his time in the neck of his Louis, gulping a safe amount hard and fast to reach his goals in a quicker time. His hands reached up to grab Louis’ wrists from his shoulders and pin them down on the bed over his head, leaving him to powerlessly accept whatever Harry was to give. He couldn’t stop the human’s desperate hip rutting, but that was working in both of their favours because it happened to speed up the process of his own erection tenfold. Once he knew he’d last a while, he gingerly took his teeth out and pressed the rag that was always in arm’s reach against the wound, scooting down the distracted Louis’ body and halting in-between his thighs.

“That was—” Louis panted happily, lifting his sore neck to peer down his front and catch Harry take ahold of his underwear and helpfully remove it. Louis probably wouldn’t have had the energy to lift his hips and bend down to do it himself, anyway. He blushed darker than he ever had in his life from being so privately exposed, but the hungry look in Harry’s eyes did wonders to eradicate his insecurity. He was about to finish his sentence when Harry’s hand wrapped around his shaft, and that sentence would now never be completed.

“It’s just as perfect as I remembered,” Harry complimented, using his other hand to cup Louis’ sack and work both areas at once. Louis’ back arched into an impressively flexible ‘C’ under his touch, and it couldn’t have made Harry prouder. Nobody deserved this human but him, nobody could treat this human better than him, and nobody could ever please this human as much as he can. Louis is entirely and inarguably his, and Harry adored every part of him, but there was one part he had no experience with.

Louis’ laboured breathing paused when Harry’s hands disappeared, and he propped himself up on his elbows to get to the bottom of the sudden crime. The reason became pretty clear when Harry slid his silk shorts off his hips and released an erection roughly the size of Louis’ forearm—he really didn't know if he was exaggerating or not. “ _Christ_!” Louis shrieked in confounded arousal, wondering whether sex with Harry would even work in his small-framed body. He likes a challenge, though.

“What?” Harry asked with a raise of his eyebrows, following Louis’ eyes to his own cock and piecing everything together. “Ah. Yeah, are you really surprised, though? I’m a Roman,” he explained to the gawking human, getting his incredulous glare in return.

“All Romans had _that_ under their tunics?” Louis gasped, his mouth watering at the thought of eventually fitting it in his uncharted throat.

“Some more than others, but we’re wasting time,” Harry said with a sneaky smile, traveling back up Louis’ body and parting his legs by default. “Can I make love to you?” he asked politely, well aware of the answer.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” Louis warned, rolling his eyes and holding up a hand before Harry could make a crack about already being dead most of the time. “But this is my first time, so go slow,” he added with a wavering tone, knowing that Harry would never intentionally hurt him, but not ignorant enough to assume that his cock wouldn’t hurt regardless.

Harry adopted a thoughtful expression and leaned over to grab some lube from his bookshelves. What _doesn’t_ he have in his bookshelves? “Looks like we weren’t wasting time, then. Don’t worry, baby. I can’t stand the thought of you in pain. Let me take more blood when I start, and I promise you it won’t hurt at all. Then by the time my saliva wears off, you’ll have already gotten used to it,” he suggested, winning Louis’ contemplation over in a heartbeat.

Louis frantically nodded his head and took the lube from Harry’s hand, squirting some on his fingers and reaching down between them to spread it on his hole so Harry had less work to do. This consequently intrigued Harry so much that he sat back to watch the show, groaning when Louis’ fingers disappeared inside his glistening hole. He watched the desperate human finger himself with fervor, seemingly agitated that he couldn’t reach the places that were needed for true satisfaction, but Harry would take care of that.

He couldn’t stand another second without any contribution and he dove forward into Louis’ neck and reopened the same bite from earlier, smiling in his head at the choked sound that came from Louis’ unsuspecting throat. He kept the consumption nice and slow so that no dizziness would ensue, but he quickly passed his limit of patience. Louis’ hand between his legs had lost all of his its energy, so Harry moved it from the area and let it fall down to the side uselessly. He used his skills of multitasking to lube his harder-than-ever cock for maximum ease, and guided it to Louis’ puckered hole, following the tunnel that had been slightly opened from his fingers.

He was met with a natural amount of resistance for a virgin and buried himself centimetre by centimetre, even waiting in-between each tiny thrust so that Louis would have the least amount of after-ache. In truth, he could have slammed all the way in like he wanted to, and Louis wouldn’t have felt a needle-prick of pain, but that would only leave him unable to sit for days following the act, so he needed to treat him with the utmost love and care.

He took his teeth out when his hipbones were finally pushing against Louis’ arse, and stayed motionless while he waited for Louis to come out of his hazy stupor. He’d really want to be alert for this.

Louis levitated over the blissful lake of serenity that Harry’s bite sent him to until the fangs were gone, and he realized all at once what was transpiring in the real world. He blinked a few times until his surroundings came into focus, and the first thing he noticed was Harry’s panting face above him, making him fall in love all over again. The second thing he noticed was the cause of Harry’s breathing problems, in the form of the Roman’s cock burrowed all the way into his hole like Louis had only ever imagined.

“Harry,” Louis whined, wrapping his legs around Harry’s back and gasping when the movement uncovered the full feeling of having Harry so deep inside of him. He looked down and got a short glimpse of their puzzle piece condition, falling back in overwhelming excitement and preparing himself for what would come next.

“Welcome back, love,” Harry cooed, slowly pulling his hips back to push them forward again, the slide of his cock setting indescribable fireworks alight in Louis’ throbbing passage. He watched Louis’ face morph from shock to ecstasy, and he knew the pre-bite had done its job. “I’m going to move now,” he warned, touching their foreheads together and kissing his nose.

“Okay,” Louis rasped, raking his nails up Harry’s back when he repeated the same motion, and crying out when the pace of it quickened. He’d been so lost in the gradual introduction, that almost before he’d realized what had happened, Harry was truly and genuinely fucking into him with the speed and power that you would find in a porno movie. “Hadrian!” he shouted without thinking, squeezing his arms around the vampire’s upper shoulders and searching for his lips.

Harry smiled and helped Louis out, craning his neck down to lick into Louis’ mouth and breathe his air while he still could, fucking into him with skilled control and adamant passion. “You feel like heaven,” he murmured against his lips, sliding his hands down to grip onto Louis’ pronounced hipbones. He used them as leverage and took full reign of Louis’ pelvis, moving and angling it to his will so he could better find the human’s sweet spot.

Louis suddenly choked out a blindsided gasp, and Harry smirked because he knew that meant he’d found it. He kept Louis’ hips right where they were and drove his cock into his lover with concentrated precision, expertly grazing against the grainy-textured mound of nerves on the roof of his chamber, letting his own moans slip last his lips because he couldn’t hold them in if he tried. “So phenomenal, my darling Lou,” he grunted, still aiming at his discovered target but becoming a bit dissatisfied with their distance. “Come here,” he cooed, getting his hands under Louis’ back and pulling him up until he was sat atop his lap, held there by the impaling cock that was nestled inside of him.

Louis growled in pleasure at the change of formation that allowed gravity to work on his side, shaking his hips to lower himself as far as he could go. He was surprised he was taking Harry’s large size within him so well, but every thrust was causing his vision to fuzz and crackle around the edges with white-hot mini-explosions, and the tightening in his balls was getting stupidly amazing.

“Are you gonna come for me?” Harry purred against his nipple that his mouth had been around, resisting the urge to sink his fangs in around it because the human hadn’t been a blood-partner for long, and that would probably knock him out until he was better trained to withstand bites and sex at the same time.

“I definitely can,” Louis responded hoarsely, tangling his fists in Harry’s long and wild hair and licking at the shell of his ear. He didn’t know where this sexual confidence was coming from, but he seemed to know exactly what to do, and what Harry liked, and he followed his heart and instincts to the fullest degree.

Harry sucked a breath in through his teeth when Louis bit on his earlobe, confused how Louis knew it was a particular fancy of his, but reminding himself that Louis always knew everything at the right times. The positive answer to his question demanded to be addressed, and he pulled out of the whining Louis before turning him around and shoving him down to lie on his stomach.

Louis hit the comforter and immediately looked over his shoulder, rising onto his knees and spreading his legs for the vampire behind him, who seemed hypnotized by the opening Louis was submissively presenting.

“Oh, Louis,” Harry whispered under his breath, placing his palms on Louis’ arse cheeks and pulling them apart while he ran his thumbs around the outside of his used hole. “You’re delectable. This body is dangerous around someone like me. I’m eternally addicted,” he moaned, taking his cock in his hand and watching intensely as it was swallowed whole by Louis’ pliant body, gandering at the stretch his skin had made to fit all of it in.

“Please,” Louis croaked, preemptively rocking his hips back and forth to give himself the much needed insanity Harry’s cock brought over his soul. “As hard as you can.”

Harry lowly moaned at the order and nudged Louis’ knees a little closer together so that he had the perfect forward angle to follow through with the request. Once they were completely parallel, he reared back and slammed into his shaking Louis, instantly repeating the movement and refusing to let up unless Louis verbally expressed that he couldn’t take it anymore.

However, that resistance never came.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh my _god_ , that’s it. Right there. Shit, you're so fucking good. Fuck me like you used to, Hadrian. Fill me up, come on,” Louis chanted, still completely himself, but unable to discredit the nostalgic aspects that being dominated by Harry was relentlessly producing.  

“Yeah? You like it when I fuck you, darling? You like a vampire cock in your little human hole?” he taunted, licking the sweat off Louis’ back and pushing them both down so Louis was fully horizontal and not using so much energy to keep himself up.

“It’s so good, Hadrian. You make me so fucking hard,” Louis strained to enunciate clearly, valiantly trying to get his own hand under him and play with his ignored erection.

“No you don’t” Harry scolded, throwing Louis’ hand back up to where he couldn’t touch any part of himself. “You will come from my cock only, show me that you like it. Show me how much you love our sex,” he demanded in a growl, getting close to his own release.

Louis groaned in willing aggravation, concentrating on the penetrating thrusts inside of him and really taking note of where they were landing, finding an easy rhythm to climb the ladder of release to. He’d only fingered himself in the past, and he never got very deep on his own, so the only other way he’d come was from stroking his cock. It was unfamiliar to come any other way from any other place, but Harry was making it increasingly easy.

“You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it,” Harry darkly muttered, holding Louis’ hips tighter because they were almost vibrating with how hard the human’s body was shaking.

“So close, Harry. Please don’t stop,” Louis begged, his nails dragging across the sheet so hard as he balled his hands into fists that the fabric cleanly tore beneath them. His screams were so loud that Martin wouldn’t be safe from listening if he were ten miles away, but nothing like that mattered. All that mattered was hot, primal sex, searing into his soul and awakening an insatiable slut that he’d never pictured himself harboring.

“Fuck, Louis!” Harry roared, lightly running his own claws down Louis’ back to demonstrate that he could do the very same thing. “Beg for it. Beg me to fill you up, I wanna hear you cry,” he cruelly commanded, biting his lip when Louis thoughtlessly complied.

“Please, Harry, I’ll do anything you want! I need your come to drip out of me. Let me come too, please, I’ll be good for you, I just need—”

“Beg harder!” he snapped, completely immune to Louis’ pitiful sobs of frustration.

“ _PLEASE_!” Louis screamed so loud his voice cracked, whining into the tattered sheet and getting struck with a sudden idea that he figured he would try if it came to him so randomly. “Bite me, Hadrian! Please, I need your fangs in my skin. Come inside me and bite me, take me, _please_ ,” he wheezed, baring the left side of his neck for the vampire’s imminent ownership.

That offer was all that Harry needed to yank his orgasm out of him without a hope of controlling it, and he slammed all the way into him as his warm release was emptied into Louis’ pulsating walls, falling down on top of him to sink his already anxious fangs into the spot that Louis had presented.

Louis’ consequent orgasm was stronger than he ever thought possible in his entire life, and his release shot out of his smushed cock like a gun, instantly creating a hot puddle beneath him. The feeling of his blood being taken from his neck by his vampire doubled the pleasure in his groin, and an unexpected amount more of his come dribbled out of his sensitive tip, sending wave after wave of tingles from the bottoms of his feet to the underside of his ears. “Harry,” he choked out weakly, trying to hold onto his consciousness and nearly losing his battle.

Harry backed off his lover’s neck with a breathless inhale, panting and gasping as his living body tried to calm itself down. He couldn’t wait until Louis was familiar enough with sex for his body to withstand much rougher and more painful lovemaking. Harry may be a bit of a sadist, but he doesn’t really like titles in any case. “Louis, that was—are you okay?” he asked before anything else, requiring a confident answer from the jaded Louis.

“I’m perfect,” Louis slurred, wincing when Harry rolled them over onto their sides and began to languidly retract his softening cock from Louis’ body. “That’s rather sore,” he noted, making a small pained sound when Harry finally got it all the way out of him.

“I’m sorry, baby. I couldn’t help but ravage you,” he confessed, pressing his fingers down on his bite mark to keep more opiate-like highs floating around Louis’ body because they would undermine the residual ache.

“It’s quite alright,” Louis excused tiredly, rolling around and snuggling into Harry’s chest. “I love you.”

Harry got the idea and shifted onto his back, pulling Louis who was heavy with exhaustion onto his chest and wrapping him up in his arms. “I love you too, my dearest fantasy,” he seconded, picking the comforter up with his skilled toes and further splaying it out over them when he could grab onto it. “You made my dreams come true tonight, now sleep for a while,” he encouraged, more than willing to let Louis fall into a deep sleep of ambiguous duration before they talked like he was looking forward to.

“But I’m…not…sleepy,” Louis lied needlessly, the beating of Harry’s heart acting as a swaying pocket watch before his already closed eyes.

“Shh,” Harry hushed in amusement, reaching down to adjust his cock and returning his hand to the middle of Louis’ back. “Go to sleep, love,” he repeated, chuckling as lightly as he could when Louis took the advice instantly.

Louis’ little evened breaths on Harry’s chest sent affection and love right back to him without even knowing it, and the dreaming whimpers were quite the formidable foe of cuteness as well. Louis had this ability to fix every problem in Harry’s long life, and he didn’t understand how he did it, but he’s glad he could. Louis was perpetually lighting every corner and crevice in Harry’s unchanging world of darkness, and Harry would ensure that no tear ever hits the floor in payment.

Harry was going to make this human the happiest of his entire species if he could help it, but he had to admit his fear over the eventual aging that Louis would undergo. He would never push immortality on someone who didn’t want it, but the _second_ Louis suggested it first, he was getting a mouthful of Harry’s blood, and that was final. Maybe this time, his partner in forever would make it all the way with him; and if something _were_ to happen, Harry decided that he’d go down in flames with Louis this time around. No more sulking around while crying over the tragic past.

Harry’s life was going to stretch into infinity with Louis, or it was going to end with him, and that was a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehh? Good? Yes, no, maybe so? 
> 
> *fun fact* When Harry and Martin were next alone, the butler made sure to snap at Harry for saying "he knows his master" about Louis. He was beside himself and yelled "DO NOT SEXUALIZE THAT WORD!!" very clearly.


	11. Dante's Progression & Niall's Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll see what I mean. Dumb ass chapter title, sue me.

It had been an unknown amount of time lying in the bed with Louis, because Harry hadn’t known when they’d started, but not one second had been a bore. He reached over to lift Louis’ wrist and check the time on his watch that they’d failed to remove, learning that it was four in the morning, and then dropping his thin wrist back onto his chest.

The movement had accidentally woken the sleeping beauty, and he tiredly moaned as he struggled to open his eyes. The hand Harry had moved creeped to his yawning face and rubbed at his eyelids, the boy mustering the strength to lift his head altogether and peer at Harry’s fully conscious self.

“What time is it?” he asked in a voice that was octaves lower than usual, trying to read his watch but finding it difficult without the night-vision that Harry had.

“It’s four in the morning,” Harry replied helpfully, sitting up from his previously frozen lying position and sweeping the shelves for his Zippo. He found it without much trouble and transferred its flame to three candles, rolling back over to see Louis in the warm glow of firelight. The softened edges and lines of his love’s body were calming to simply view, and the dancing shadows on his cheekbones made him appear ethereal. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, touching his right hand to Louis’ face and watching the shadows cover the back of his hand, swooning in the presence of the human whose beauty far surpassed his own, and he can admit that.

“I just woke up, and you’re telling me I’m beautiful,” Louis uttered tonelessly, not gullible enough to believe he somehow looked good right now.

“You are,” Harry argued firmly, sitting all the way up and crossing his legs, waiting patiently for Louis to do the same—instant karma time.

Louis rolled his eyes and copied the movement, sharply wincing and falling back over once he’d sat straight up. “Fuck, that hurts a bit,” he grumbled, sending curses to Harry’s smirking features.

“You know what that means?” Harry asked excitedly, setting Louis on edge because the smug undertones in his voice were extremely worrisome.

“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me,” Louis replied, propping himself up on his elbow and overlooking the small pains he was feeling. He would not let Harry get away with so much superiority.

“I’ll be with you all day,” Harry sung, ducking down to speak his words right into Louis’ ear. “Every time you sit, every time you stand, with every step you take, you will feel me inside of you. You’ll carry the unignorable aftereffect of having my cock in you like a battle scar, giving you flashbacks of our sex every time you grunt in pain,” he informed, backing up to grin down at Louis’ annoyed face. “I couldn’t be happier.”

“Okay, first of all, you _demon_ , even if it _didn’t_ hurt, I’d still be overloaded with flashbacks of you fucking me. Secondly, we have the exact same thoughts on this, which I can only assume you didn’t know. I’m more than satisfied that you will inadvertently cause me pain all day. You have no idea how much I miss you when I’m gone. Feeling you nonstop is like a dream come true, so please fall off your high horse and break your leg on the way down,” he chuckled, launching up and smashing their lips together, taking Harry by happy surprise.

“You know...did you know that even though I’m always expecting you to surprise me, you still find a way to surprise me unexpectedly? That is a rare gift,” Harry praised, snaking his arms around Louis’ middle and yanking him down until he was straddling his hips, overlooking Louis’ squeak of pained protest. “You constantly confound me, and I never want you to stop doing it. I predict everything about humans flawlessly, a skill I had help to culture, sure, but one I’ve put against every move humans have made and I’ve never been proven wrong. I was a step ahead of the Spanish Inquisition, two steps ahead of the plague, three steps ahead of the French Revolution, _ten_ steps ahead of the Holocaust, and well, you get the picture. I could map out every law that would be written, every war that would start, every scientific discovery, genocide. I could do this because humans are legible. Like a book. Their emotions ring strong and true, and it never takes much to register someone’s intentions, how much they have to lose, if they fear death. All of this can be uncovered by a lock of the eyes. And then there’s you,” he added in a flustered huff, rubbing down Louis’ arms to catch his hands and pull them toward his lips.

“And what am I?” Louis asked curiously, blushing when Harry took one of his fingers into his mouth and just barely grazed it with a fang, infuriatingly never letting it penetrate, and driving Louis mad with desire.

Harry removed Louis’ index from his mouth to answer the question, running it across his hungry tongue on the way out. “An enigma,” he informed, pulling the human down by the arms sharply so he landed on top of him, stopping his momentum before their faces crashed into each other. “An unsolvable puzzle that I’ll never stop working on for the rest of eternity…if you’d let me, that is. If you want to,” he stuttered, beyond mortified that he’d brought it up first when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t.

Louis was speechless for a few moments; Harry had just asked him to spend eternity together, and surely he knew the gravity of that offer, but was he sure? “Harry…”

“Say no more, please,” Harry pleaded, unwilling to sit through an answer because Louis wasn’t quite ready to call it yet. He wouldn’t know all that he was agreeing to, and they needed more time together before he’d have a decent idea of what he was getting himself into.

“No, let me say this,” Louis ordered, shutting Harry up more efficiently than taping his mouth shut could accomplish. “If you think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind before, then you’d be laughably oblivious to my feelings. Forever with you is more than an intriguing or tempting offer, it’s a permanent bond that is the stuff of my every daydream. That being said, I’m not ready. I’m not ready for several reasons, but a few—if you interrupt me, I will slap the shit out of you,” he suddenly warned, warily resuming his speech when Harry’s mouth guiltily closed again.

“...a few of the reasons are to do with my age, a few more are about loose ends that I’d want to tie before losing the sunshine, but a greater deal more consist of my strange relationship to Alexander. I want to know more about who I am and who I’m supposed to be before I have to be that person forever, and I already know what you’re going to say. I am my own person, I understand that, but I need to get to the bottom of some of this shit, and I’ll be needing to ransack your library for hints,” he informed, set on doing it anyway regardless of how much Harry may stress that he won’t find anything there.

“That’s a good idea,” Harry decided, wondering if anything in his library would actually serve them any good.

“I’ll also need full access to that room again,” Louis added sternly, this condition also not open for debate.

“Agh…you want that room, do you? I don’t know if I want to let you in there by yourself. You fainted last time and almost cracked your head open on a bunch of chests. I hope you can understand my hesitance regarding that request,” Harry said reasonably, opposed to letting Louis wander off and get himself killed for no purpose.

“Fine, then come with me. But I’m going back in there,” Louis promised, recognizing that it might be good for him to have his vampire there in case of the hazards that always come with trying to look into his soul.

“Deal,” Harry sighed, keeping his gaze on Louis to willingly hear out any more demands the human could deliver.

Louis sighed and rolled off Harry’s lap, curling in on himself and wishing that he had all of the answers—that he wasn’t so terrified all the time of things he didn’t understand. It was hard enough being a human in his position, but having outside personalities bust out of you from somewhere internal was a hell of a lot worse, and he didn’t know how much longer he could go without knowing.

“Baby, hey,” Harry breathed, grabbing Louis around the waist and using him as an anchor to slide over and press up against his back, letting his top hand roam the expanse from his side to his thigh. “Do not despair, not while I’m with you. Won’t you let me make it better?” he asked, scooting down to hunch over near Louis’ backside, managing to redirect his thoughts to that instead.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, defensive over his overused hole, and not entirely down to have it prodded in its delicate condition.

“Shh, relax, Lou. I’m not doing anything you don’t want me to,” Harry assured, egging him onto his back to have more options.

Louis stared in interest at Harry’s wandering and contemplative eyes, getting a good idea of what he was aiming for and calming his mind when he figured it out. “Do it,” he whispered, spreading his legs and arms to give any part that Harry wanted over to his control.

Harry hummed in adoration and pushed Louis’ thighs further apart, settling down in-between them and pushing the left one up to form a right angle from his hip as he wrapped his arm underneath it, flattening his tongue to lick a broad stripe up the innermost part of his thigh, even gently pushing his sack to the side to get in as close as possible. He revelled in Louis’ responding convulsions of pleasure and went in for the kill, extending his fangs and lodging them into Louis’ skin, still clammy from sex.

Louis’ back arched and a mindless hand flew down to grip Harry’s hair and hold his head in place, his erection immediately attended to by Harry’s free hand. Louis’ other leg came up of its own accord, both knees lifting off the bed while he pointed his toes as hard as he could, not caring about the protesting arch cramps he was met with. Harry’s sinful tongue was licking all over where his bite covered, coating the sensitive area in that heroin-saliva of his, coaxing more blood to flow toward the surface, and a faster orgasm to reach Louis’ groin.

Louis suddenly felt a bit overworked, so he slapped Harry’s pumping hand away, determined to reach his climax from the fangs alone. Harry chuckled against his bite wound and closed his eyes, the jobless hand landing beside the point of penetration, rotating the skin of Louis’ thigh upward to make the process that much easier for him.

“I’m gonna come, Harry,” Louis warned tightly, giving his all not to roll his hips because there happened to be sharp incisors embedded near them that would grotesquely impact that motion, but finding it near impossible to keep everything still.

“Mmm,” was all Harry could say, sucking harder from his bite marks to give Louis the euphoric rush he needed to attain his release.

Louis’ body clenched like he’d been turned into stone, the spell breaking when he finally reached the peak of his orgasm, coming over his stomach with a loud cry of Harry’s name. He flopped down lifelessly and unintentionally slapped his hand down right into his semen, snorting when he realized he couldn’t care less.

Harry had thoroughly enjoyed watching every second of that alluring process, but he remembered that Louis would soon reach the point of weakness that came right before the danger zone, and he had school today, so the vampire left the comfort of his human’s blood at once, pressing the iconic rag to the area and giving long and soothing pets up Louis’ chest with a clean shirt while he recuperated.

“I was—watching you,” Louis heaved, licking his chapped lips before they broke and marinating in the goosebumps that were forming from the light graze of Harry’s fingertips.

“What does that mean for me?” Harry inquired in curiosity, bending his back so that he could kiss up and down Louis’ thigh, additionally giving it pats and squeezes as well.

“When you’re taking blood from me, you almost look…childlike. Innocent. I thought it was an odd image for a vampire to have, but you honestly looked like you were going through something similar to me. I was just wondering, what is it like for you? I know you come alive, but this is different…” he trailed, following Harry with his eyes as he slipped into his silk shorts and kimono that had been discarded on the floor.

“You’re not wrong,” Harry admitted, running through all the ways he would word the description. “Coming alive isn’t really something that’s easy to explain to someone who’s never been dead, if you will. But when the blood comes from someone you love, it means so much more than just life. It’s love. Everything in essence. It’s all the senses at once, the gift of warmth, of orgasms and passion. In the simplest terms, I could equate the peace felt by my kind when we drink from humans we adore to an infant receiving the milk of his Mother, but I must admit I do not remember much of what that’s like. You’d probably have an easier time recalling that than _my_ old ass would,” he chuckled, dropping his hand over his heart because Louis made it beat faster and harder than anyone before him.

Louis snorted at the jab to his youth and stuck his tongue out with signature boyish charm, crab-walking to his pile of clothing because he didn’t need to do any scooting with a hole as sensitive as his. He inched his clothes onto his sore body, one that felt as though he’d just run a 5k mile run. “Throw me that shirt, would you?” he asked to Harry, lazily pointing his finger to the shirt that had been shoved between the mattress and the bookshelves.

Harry used his nose to detect its exact location and reached behind him without sparing a glance, taking it in his fist and tossing it to the shivering Louis. “Why don’t you come back into bed for a while? I’m still warm,” he added to sprinkle some spice onto his suggestion, holding his arms out hopefully.

“What time is it now?” Louis asked offhandedly, yawning into the back of his hand and scratching at his dry scalp.

Harry didn’t mention that it was Louis who had the watch, simply grasped his wrist and leaned in to discern where the hands were positioned. “It’s 4:18,” he announced, extremely satisfied that time seemed to slow down with his Louis, and not fly by like it sometimes tends to.

“I can’t believe it’s only been eighteen minutes,” Louis laughed, diving back under the covers and sticking to his vampire like a magnet. “You realize that when you turn me, you won’t get my blood anymore?” he needlessly reminded, looking up at Harry’s stoic face to catch the response.

“Unfortunately, that’s true, but it won’t matter in the long run. Guess I’ll just have to stock up,” he teased, not actually kidding at all.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if we set up an official date, then once a week at least I’ll just draw your blood intravenously and let it flow into those bags. You’ll still be incredibly possessive of me for a while after you turn, and you won’t allow any blood besides the type you had as a human in the house. So, might as well have your _own_ in the fridge. Something tells me you’d be alright with that. Plus, I want you to know what it’s like,” he added, thumbing at the vein that runs beneath Louis’ inner-elbow, aware that it would be a battle to put his blood into the bags and not into his mouth.

“Ew, you mean drink my own?” Louis asked with a scrunched-up nose, a strong aversion to the very idea of drinking blood at all. “It doesn’t taste very good,” he explained, recalling every time that he’d bitten his lip too hard and gotten some on his tongue.

“For humans, maybe. For us, it’s different. It’s neither tasty, nor distasteful. The only thing we judge is how it makes us feel. If it’s lively and powerful, we call it delicious, because that just makes the most sense. Sweet, bland, spicy, bitter, and sour are also used, but we’re never referring to the actual flavour of the substance. Those descriptors all represent different factors of the blood we’re consuming, but I don’t want to get into that right now. I have your blood in my system, and that’s all I’ll ever need, human or not,” he said firmly, knocking their foreheads together and forcing Louis to lay his head down on his chest.

“Vampires drink from each other. I still find that odd. It’s all black,” Louis noted, remembering the show that Harry had put on for him when he sliced his forearm open.

“Ah, when we’re dead. If two vampires are alive, their blood is just as effective as the human’s that’s in them. Though it is very different by default…am I making any sense?” he asked the lost Louis, admitting that many ins and outs of his life can only be truly understood by someone who also walks the same shadows.

“Sure,” Louis laughed, smiling as Harry’s rumbling chuckle bounced him up and down on his chest. “If all goes as planned, I’ll find out eventually. That is if you still want me.”

“Don’t worry about that, Lou. I’ve made up my mind,” Harry assured, rolling Louis over the top of himself to cuddle him from the other side, more comfortable because he was now between Louis and the exit—an enemy would need to get through Harry first.

“I’ve made mine up too,” Louis seconded, reaching a hand back and playing with a long lock of Harry’s hair, letting it go when his upper arm hurt too much to maintain the angle. “I’m not quite myself right now, physically.”

“Martin bought coffee. You’re welcome to have a cup before you leave for school if you wish,” Harry informed, grinning when Louis practically moaned at the mention of coffee. Time to add that to the permanent shopping list.

“Thank fucking Zeus,” Louis said, furrowing his own eyebrows at the constant stream of weird shit that always seems to pour out of his mouth, but Harry didn’t give it any notice.

“For now though, my beautiful lover, you have about two more hours to sleep. I will wake you at six…fifteen?” he asked, unaware of what the appropriate time actually was.

“That’s perfect,” Louis slurred, twisting around to give his vampire a sweet kiss before returning to his dreams that would probably feature Hadrian and Alexander from the fourth century in them. _Here I come, you greedy possession monster._

“6:15 it is, then. Sleep well,” he cooed into the back of Louis’ hair, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep too because he had nothing else that he wanted or needed to do.

 

\---

 

_“Hadrian? What ails you, my love? What is this?” Alexander asked in a fret, rushing over to catch the vampire as he began to fall._

_“There’s…something wrong with that blood,” Hadrian gagged, glaring down at the human he’d just killed and promptly coughing the blood he’d ingested back up._

_“Shit,” Alexander cursed, trying to evade the spray but getting some in his mouth regardless. “That human really didn’t look so good,” he agreed, studying the deathly-looking skin of the human while Harry nearly convulsed in his arms. “My love!” he cried, falling down to the ground with him and rocking him back and forth in his arms like an infant._

_“It hurts a lot,” Hadrian managed to grit out, holding his head and struggling to breathe._

_“I wish I knew how to help you,” Alexander whined, a slight cough tightening his lungs. “I may suffer small symptoms of this as well, but I need to get you somewhere comfortable,” he said, looking down the cobbled streets of London and trying to remember which direction they’d come from._

_“It’s the plague!” they both heard a voice shout, looking over to find a man covering his own and his daughter’s mouths while they frantically retreated down an alley._

_“Excuse me? What do you mean ‘plague’?” Alexander asked clearly, glancing at the delirious Hadrian and furrowing his eyebrows when his love looked two seconds from actual real never-coming-back death._

_“Where’ve you been?” the man yelled back, obviously in no desire to stick around. “They’re calling it the Black Death. May God have mercy on your souls,” he blessed with good intentions, taking the little crying girl into his arms and running for his life with her._

_“The Black Death?” Alexander repeated to no one, amazed that he and Hadrian had been able to miss something so crucial that was happening to the humans. Though, he supposes it’s not just the humans now. “Hadrian, can you hear me?” he asked worriedly, shaking his twitching body and trying to bring him back from whatever surface he was under._

_“Ale...ex...ander,” Harry mumbled almost inaudibly, the most awful rattling sound occurring with each forced inhale he took._

_“My darling, I hate to see you like this,” Alexander sobbed, lifting the sickly Roman into his arms and picking a direction to go. He started noticing the gravity of what the man had been referring to when the street began to thicken with humans in the same situation they were in, lying on the street and coughing blood onto the pavement. “It is a plague,” he whispered to himself, cowering under the sympathetic stares he was receiving._

_“He won’t die,” he defended, probably sounding like he was drowning in denial, but they were different. Vampires couldn’t die from this…right?_

_Hadrian groaned in agony while he grasped at his stomach, combating some invisible pain that Alexander couldn’t heal if he tried. He seemed to be getting even heavier in Alexander’s arms and had lost his grip on reality some time ago, completely lost in the disease that was pumping through his infected blood._

_Alexander whimpered when he became too weak to hold himself close to Alexander’s chest with an arm around his shoulder and limply fell back, his arms hanging lifelessly out to the sides. “Baby, it’s gonna be okay,” he tried to say, quickening his pace when Hadrian made absolutely no response._

_He found an uninhabited barn laden with straw hay and rushed into its secluded  walls, flying to the very corner and laying Hadrian down atop a soft patch of hay. “Hadrian?” he asked anxiously, dropping the side of his face onto his chest and praying that his heart was still beating. If he was dead and still like this, then they’d have a huge problem. He sighed in relief when a weak heartbeat was found fluttering beneath his skin, and tried to slap him awake._

_“Hadrian!” he cried, lifting him into a sitting position by his shoulders and whining once more when Hadrian’s head lolled back powerlessly and only the parts of his eyes that were really visible were tiny slivers of white. “Damn this,” he cursed, choosing to lay beside his mate and wrap him up in his arms. It didn’t look like there was anything he could possibly do, but he could be there for him until the end._

_He sniffed his tears away and tried to find strength, keeping his hand splayed out over Hadrian’s heart to document every single change it made. They lied there for an unknown amount of time that seemed the longest of Alexander’s life when Hadrian’s heart began to fade out completely. “Baby?” he asked, lifting himself up to peer down at Hadrian while he actively died._

_Hadrian’s breaths got more and more shallow, and Alexander shed an additional tear for all the lovers that have been in his position because of this illness; how unfortunate and depressing that they watched their beauties die without getting proper goodbyes, without the security of death being normal, never to hear from them again. Of course, Alexander wasn’t absolutely positive that Hadrian would come out of it either, but he was holding strong to the notion that everything would be fine._

_He leaned down and kissed Hadrian’s cheek for comfort, rubbing circles over his pectoral muscle while the other hand pet his hair, taking in the heart growing useless and his breathing dissipating into nothing. Only when the last, sad beat had echoed through Hadrian’s chest did any change occur, but when it finally did…_

_Hadrian shot up with wide eyes and a choked gasp, ceasing all related actions when he realized he didn’t need air anymore and was back to normal._

_“Hadrian!” Alexander screeched, crushing him in a hug and sending them both toppling back over. “Don’t ever do that again,” he sobbed, climbing onto Hadrian’s lap and kissing all over his neck and face._

_“Alex, I…that was literally dying,” Hadrian recalled with a shudder, slightly traumatized from the whole horrifying situation. “What exactly happened?” he asked, finally taking everything in and wrapping his arms around Alexander’s back._

_“It’s a plague. You drank from an infected human, and it immediately took effect, shoving you as far into the disease as he was, and you went down hard. You just got worse and worse so I carried you here and watched you die, and now you’re okay,” he informed, already working on theorizing why it had affected them so much._

_“How is that even possible? We’ve taken from sniffling and sneezing humans before and nothing has ever happened,” Hadrian mentioned, using his core to sit back and take the koala Alexander with him._

_“Blood of the sick and blood of the dying are apparently night and day in differences. These people are all imminently terminal, and by default, so were you. Only thing is you get to come back afterward. Still, we can’t have this happen again,” he stressed, helping Hadrian onto his feet although he didn’t need the assistance._

_“Didn’t you get some in your mouth?” Hadrian asked with concern, holding Alexander’s face and searching for any signs of sickness._

_“I never really came alive,” Alexander explained with a shrug. “Maybe for a second, and I coughed once, but then my heart stopped and it went away instantly. But I barely had any! You, you drank an entire person,” he chastised in what he could relievedly say was amusement._

_“I’m sorry I scared you,” Hadrian said sincerely, stopping their walk to the outside world so he could hold Alexander close against his chest._

_“Do not apologize for your stupidity,” Alexander sighed, surrendering to the embrace and breathing in the natural vampire scent of his happily dead lover._

_“My stupidity?” Hadrian defended indignantly, attempting to pull back and look at Alexander’s face, but the emotional vampire wouldn’t let him move a muscle._

_“Yes, there was clearly something incredibly off and wrong about that human. So next time, we need to use our eyes and noses. Stop thinking with our fangs. First thing’s first, we gotta get ourselves out of London,” he announced, finally stepping back and linking his arm through Hadrian’s elbow._

_“Where do we go?” Hadrian asked curiously, sighing under the comforting glow of the moon._

_“Not sure how widespread this plague is quite yet, but this is definitely a terrible place. We need to get home first and sleep through the day before we leave, or we’ll be caught in the sun,” he added, changing their course to the little stony shack they call a home._

_“What are we going to do for the remainder of the night?” Hadrian silkily asked, getting weird looks from those dying on the street and furrowing his eyebrows at their reverent expressions._

_Alexander noticed too, but he didn’t say anything about it—he’d let the humans believe that there’s a chance they could be blessed by God and cured of their fatal infection. A sliver of hope can go a long way in the mind of all creatures who walk the Earth._

_“You know what we’re doing tonight,” Alexander responded to answer his suggestive question, taking the arm he was hugging and dropping it over his shoulders instead as he snuggled into Hadrian’s side. They had a vase of blood in their home at all times, and luckily this stuff was clean. They’ve never needed it more than they do right now._

_Hadrian chuckled and kissed the top of Alexander’s hair, sending a quick apologetic thought to the humans they were leaving to die behind them before changing his focus to the unspeakable acts him and his lover would commit behind closed doors tonight. “Well, you did all the work tonight. Whatever we do is in your hands,” he said under his breath as they passed by a weakly limping couple headed the other direction._

_Alexander darkly laughed as quietly as he could manage and snuck the hand around Harry’s waist downward, smacking and groping his left arse cheek in an unnecessarily strong hold. “Believe me, I know.”_

 

~~~

 

Louis shot awake and sat all the way up, startling his usually calm-demeanored vampire.

“What is it?” Harry asked, twisting around to study Louis’ sweaty face.

“ _You_ …were _not_ …two steps…ahead of the _plague_ ,” Louis panted, squinting his eyes at Harry for telling such a blatant lie. This bitch went down in flames from the plague.

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish, realizing what Louis must have seen and scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well…after that I was,” he muttered, shaking his head while he gazed at his impossible boy. _What doesn’t he know?_

“Do yourself a favour and never lie like that again, I’ll only find things out later,” he chuckled, stretching his limbs and checking his watch for the time. “Damnit, I still can’t see. What’s this say?” he asked, shoving his wrist under Harry’s nose.

Harry inhaled Louis’ skin and moaned from its tempting aroma, clearing his throat and taking a look at the watch before he got yelled at. “6:14,” he laughed, holding back his whine at having to say goodbye. “I knew it was close.”

“Damnit, I really _don’t_ wanna go to school,” Louis groaned, trying to accept the fact that he would ascend the stairs soon and leave the sanctuary that was Harry’s arms.

“It’s only for a little while. And just think, later will be pretty entertaining if I’m not mistaken. Niall’s coming over, is he not?” he clarified, nuzzling Louis’ neck while he could and sighing against the warmth.

“Yeah, he is. He wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Louis said surely, forcibly pushing himself off the mattress and waiting for Harry to stand with him, which he did, and Louis threw his arms around him desperately. “I don’t wanna leave you,” he whined, shoving his face into Harry’s neck and breathing him in like the vampire usually does.

“You and I both,” Harry comforted, running his hands up and down Louis’ sides and snaking them around his back, lifting him a few inches off the ground in his tight embrace. “We’re both equally addicted to each other, parting is essentially enduring withdrawal,” he explained sadly, his hands climbing up Louis’ back to hold his neck on either sides just below his ears. “Now go before we start crying,” he said with a smile, pressing their lips together and giving him a little nudge in the right direction.

“Alright…bye,” Louis sniffled, turning on his heel and clumsily running up the stairs to hide his disobedient tears. He couldn’t believe just how much being outside of Harry’s reach was affecting him. This would never get easier. He forced his way through the trapdoor and flew down to the kitchen, snatching the ominously written essay—that felt like a lot more than five pages—off the table, and grabbed his backpack on the way to the front doors. He then shoved the envelope into the largest pocket and stuffed his feet in his shoes, creaking the door open and hopping out into the cold morning air.

Not in the mood for coffee.

He didn’t let himself look back at the mansion as he power-walked down the hill, also ignoring the building when he climbed back up outside the perimeter of the fence. He zoned out for his walk to the curb and gladly sighed when he made it, plopping down on the cement and resting his forehead in both palms, held steady by the braced elbows on his kneecaps. He tried not to let himself think about what he’d just left behind, and as he was failing miserably and gearing up to run back down the hill, Niall’s white truck appeared, puttering its freezing way down the road and whining to a stop at Louis’ feet.

Louis changed his course and threw his weight forward instead, taking two large steps and catapulting himself into the truck before he changed his mind. He shut the door and buckled himself in, looking to Niall expectantly like he should know to peel out like they were in an action film.

Niall’s eyebrows rose but he put the truck in gear and rolled away from the edge of the forest, using his words when they were a good distance away. “Everything alright?” he asked warily, taking a few chanced glances at Louis’ frustrated profile.

“Yeah, I just get sad to leave sometimes. It’s good to see your face, though,” he answered truthfully, knocking his head on his left shoulder to smile at his best friend who was concentrating on the road.

“Yeah? I can only imagine…” Niall lamented, wondering what it was like to have someone you didn’t want to part from so vehemently. “I’m still meeting him tonight, right?” he asked hopefully, letting out a silent sigh when he got a responding ‘mmhm.’

“You think I would forget something like that? Or try to weasel out of it when I made a promise to you? Get outta town,” he said defensively, giving Niall a playful shove.

“Just checking. You never know,” Niall mused, laughing when Louis scoffed at the statement. “Alright, well try to have a good day today, yeah? ‘Cuz we’ll be back there before you know it!” he said encouragingly, surprisingly managing to lift Louis’ spirits by one degree.

 

\---

 

They pulled into the parking lot as usual, but something was clearly different this morning than any other, and students were swarmed outside near the multi-purpose room in badly formed lines.

“What the fuck?” Louis wondered aloud, keeping his eyes on the horde of his classmates as Niall parked in the first spot he could get.

“Dunno,” Niall agreed, dragging his backpack with him as he hopped out of the truck, locking the door from the inside and shutting it distractedly.

Louis reached down for his backpack as well and rolled his eyes when he caught the glint of Niall’s keys in the ignition, pulling them out before he locked his door and shut it too. “Here,” he said, tossing Niall the keys he hadn’t realized weren’t in his possession.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he breathed, catching them and bouncing them off his palm a few times before shoving them in his pocket. “Thanks for catching that, Lou! We mighta been fucked,” he cackled, throwing his arm over his helpful and trustworthy friend as they traveled to add themselves on the back of the mysterious lines.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis sung in bemusement, leaning into Niall’s calming body and ignoring the looks they always got for homo-affection. They halted near the end of one of the lines and simultaneously tapped on the shoulder of the student in front of them, laughing to each other as he turned around.

“What’s up?” he asked, not being entirely rude, but not exactly accommodating either.

“What’s this for?” Niall asked for Louis, gesturing to everyone’s awaiting locations.

“Before-school assembly. Didn’t you listen yesterday? They announced it over the speakers at the end of sixth,” the boy said with a highly inconvenienced tone, turning back around once he’d given the essential information.

“Huh,” Niall piped, looking down and addressing the solemn Louis. “Did you hear about that?”

“What? Oh…no, I didn’t,” Louis replied, almost glad that he could waste an hour out of the day in a room that wasn’t his first period class.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Niall suddenly said, stepping around to grip Louis’ shoulders and stare into his eyes.

 _Here we go,_ Louis thought, gearing up for the overkill of questions Niall was sure to pummel him with.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Niall breathed, widening Louis’ eyelids with his fingers and barely noticing when Louis slapped his hands away. “Your eye,” he dumbly pointed to, still lost for words.

“It’s brown now,” Louis finished for him, trying to shrug like it was normal, but he really didn’t know how else to go about explaining it. Not yet, at least.

“So that didn’t just happen? I didn’t notice in the truck…”

“It happened last night,” Louis informed, keeping his gaze lowered so that he didn’t feel so scrutinized.

“Hell no, look at me,” Niall demanded, tilting Louis’ chin up and watching in fascination as the almost black eye rolled itself in contempt. “It’s beautiful,” he praised, giving his best and most dazzling smile to the vulnerable Louis.

“What? It is? You think so?” Louis asked with a lighter tone, fully willing to look straight into Niall’s face and showcase the addition to his appearance.

“Yeah. But how did it happen?” Niall said, still confused as to how the process came to pass. One eye changing colour was not common by any means, and he was no Doctor, but…but…

“I don’t know, it just did,” Louis pressed, milking the ambiguity to appear just as befuddled as Niall. He didn’t need the blonde figuring out that Louis knew more than he was letting on.

“Huh…wicked,” Niall praised again, in full approval of the mysterious and improbable bodily progression.

The bell took that time to ring and the sleepy teenagers filed into the auditorium, shuffling onto the bleachers on either side and squishing together to make room for everyone else. It took a busy five minutes of bleacher-tetris, but eventually everyone found a seat, and the Principal tapped the microphone to test if it was on.

“Good morning, everyone,” he greeted, a loud feedback sound screeching after his equally loud words, sharply waking everyone who still had remnants of sleep hanging over them.

“Good morning,” the room chorused boredly, not one face appearing interested in what this was all about.

“So, we’ve got some announcements to give you, but before we get to that, I’d like to remind everyone that Spring Fling is coming up in three weeks, it’s on the 19th of May, and if anyone has parents who are willing to chaperone, please come to the office after we’re done here and set it up with Mrs. Marks,” he announced dishonestly gleefully, his fake pep ringing loud and clear.

Louis groaned at the mention of the school dance’s unanticipated approach. It was indeed that time of year, but he despised all functions of the sort. He’d never had a date that wasn’t Niall, and if they danced together, hell would ensue in the crowd of straight normies.

“We’re also doing a canned food drive for the homeless on the fifth, so if anyone has any extra goods, please bring them to the Key Club in room E-4. You’ll sign a list when you arrive, and everyone who donated will receive a special award, though we can’t tell you what it is,” he said mysteriously, a laughable attempt at intriguing the students.

“Five bucks it’s a lollipop,” Niall muttered under his breath, Louis snorting his agreement.

“Ten.”

“That’s all from me, but I’m gonna hand the mic over to Coach Johnston because he has some announcements to make,” he said, almost tripping as he handed the coach the microphone, desperately trying to untangle all the cords at his feet before he humiliated himself. He got a hold on it and only suffered a few amused giggles from the vicious students, stepping back to give the coach room.

“Alright, so we’ve got a big game coming up against the Panthers in two weeks, and we’re gonna need as many Badgers as we can get in the stands. If you love this school, mark the sixteenth on your calendars and drag your parents to the field. I know the cheer and drill teams have been working hard over the last semester, and you won’t wanna miss what they’ve cooked up,” he said, greatly appealing to every guy who drooled over the cheerleaders.

Mr. Carey visibly steamed when the coach completely skipped over mentioning the marching band, and Louis could feel his anger from where he sat. Nobody cares about musicians anymore.

“Troy’s wonderful parents have graciously given us their funding so that we could have all new equipment and uniforms, and they’ve done a lot for you as well, buying books and supplies for all your favourite teachers, so don’t let that go to waste and show your appreciation. After the game, we’ll be hosting an after-party at the Redmond Hotel off Tyron Street, and we encourage anyone to come. We’ll have caterers and a DJ, and it’s happening whether we win or lose. But with all the practices my boys have dedicated their all to, I’d be thoroughly shocked if we lost. Go Badgers!” he shouted, making everyone who had begun to doze off snap back into reality.

The student president then took the microphone and coughed into it to clear his throat, pissing every single member of the audience off because that was really not necessary. “In–in regards to the–to the Golden Gate Festival…” he stuttered poorly, clumsily trying to unfold a piece of paper with the mic in his hand, making it scratch noisily against his shirt.

 _Fuck this kid_ , Louis thought irritatedly, only minorly interested in the list he was trying to open because it could very well have his name on it.

“Um,” the president gulped, finally reaching his arm out to squint his eyes at the list of names from each section. “Fr–from the theatre department, the winner is—Rebecca Harrington,” he announced, waiting for the half-assed applause to go down before continuing.

“The art department…Miles Gerlach.”

More applause.

“The choir department, the winner is…is…is Julie Stephon,” he said, pausing only one more time for the last person. “And the music department, Lewis Tomlinson,” he finished, finally clapping his own hands together and loudly knocking the tip of the mic every time.

Louis sighed at the typical mispronunciation, but his eyes went to Mr. Carey to see him literally wiping his tears and cheering like his toddler had just strung their first sentence together.

“That’s my gay lover!” Niall cried, attacking his best friend in sloppy cheek kisses.

“Jesus, Niall, you’re gonna get us killed,” Louis laughed, admittedly proud that his name had been called from the list of successful people. Maybe he does deserve the recognition. He’s damn good, after all.

Without Louis’ notice, the school counselor had taken the speaker role, and Louis scrunched his eyebrows up while he wondered what she could possibly have to announce.

“Lastly, I just want to say a few words about _bullying_ ,” she emphasized, pulling up a chair to sit because apparently this would be a long one.

“Aww, _here_ we go,” Louis said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, leaning his head on Niall’s shoulder and dreading this entire spiel. Whatever she could say or encourage would only impact the students in the room while they were here; the second everyone left the building, someone would get canned in the trash can outside. This shit never works.

“Okay, seniors! We’ve had to deal out a lot of detentions this year, and we’re all nearly graduated. You know what that means?” she asked, waiting for an answer like she’d actually receive one. “It means that we need to work on your team-building and cooperation while we still have the chance,” she informed, scoping out the room for two guinea pigs to use.

“You,” she said, looking directly at Louis.

Louis blinked rapidly and looked behind him, appalled that she’d actually chosen him. What did he do to deserve anything that happened to him in this god forsaken school? He pointed to himself and mouthed the word ‘me?’ just to be sure, and he dejectedly sighed when she confirmed. Well now he _had_ to.

He slapped Niall’s shoulder discreetly as he began his descent through the mass of smelly teenagers; the blonde hadn’t even tried to cover his laughter, and he would see hell for it.

He somehow made his way to the gymnasium floor without rolling like a tumbleweed and gloomily strutted to the counselor, giving her the most respectful glower he could manifest. She pointed at the spot right next to her and Louis slid into place, hunching his shoulders and facing the objects of his envy—how fortunate they were to be left out of this embarrassment.

The counselor, whose name is Mrs. Barnes, continued to scope the bleachers in search of her next victim. Louis’ heart rate accelerated when she spent a little too much time near the sports kids, and he could have turned into The Incredible Hulk when she made her choice: Dante.

The attractive asshole scoffed in disgust and rose to his feet, his lackeys patting him on the back to show how unfortunate they considered the ruling to be. Joke’s on them, because Louis’ not happy either, but the odds were against him. Any girl would be lucky to be paired with Dante. People tended to steer clear of Louis.

“Okay, we have our partners,” Mrs. Barnes announced into the microphone once Dante had flanked her other side, the jock smirking at Louis in a way that translated to many ominous things at once. “Now I’d like you to face each other,” she continued, almost needing to repeat herself because they weren’t listening to her at all, but they got the picture and did as she asked. She backed her chair up a bit so that they were in full view of each other, and began her sad attempt at building a camaraderie between the two.

“Now, both of you say something about yourselves. It can be anything you want, you can make it as long as you want, just enough so that the other person can get a feel for who you are,” she said, handing the mic to Dante first.

Louis could only silently chuckle; he already knew everything about Dante. He was a mean, socially dependant, sheep-thinking, evil abuser with an alcohol problem and a tough fist.

Dante took the mic and cleared his throat off to the side, because apparently even brainless swine knew not to cough into a mic like the student body president had annoyingly done. “My name is Dante Jethson, and I’m a wide receiver for the Red Hawk Badgers football team,” he stated as if that was his most important achievement in life, shockingly pausing for the rowdy applause before winking at the crowd and turning back to face a bored Louis. “I play the guitar, and I’m in a band called ‘The Smashers’ with a few buddies in my neighborhood. My Dad is a purple heart veteran from his time in ‘Nam, and my Mother died of cancer when I was twelve, so I was raised by my uncle Randy when my Dad was deployed. My favourite musician is Jimi Hendrix, and I want to be an advocate for kids with depression over losing parents and…stuff like that,” he finished with a shrug, handing the mic back to the counselor and running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair.

Louis was speechless for many reasons. One, he never would have guessed that Dante had gone through the kind of pain that he has, and that only proves how complicated humans sometimes are. Two, how big can your hypocrisy be to desire being a voice for kids with depression while you brutalize a classmate for being gay?

Nevertheless, Louis was given his cue to go next, and he nearly snatched the microphone out of Mrs. Barnes hand, throwing everything he’d previously imagined saying to the wind. “My name is Louis Tomlinson, and I don’t have many accomplishments at this school besides being the most notorious punching bag, but I guess winning the school competition for my piano ability wasn’t half-bad. My Dad is a drunk, my Mother tries her best, and I was always caught somewhere in the middle. I wasn’t ever really happy until I found someone who loves me, and I can now confidently say that it doesn’t matter how many times I get knocked down, he always be there to raise me back up, and you can’t ever change that,” he said directly into Dante’s eyes, speaking to him with such conviction and strength that Dante had to avert his gaze out of…something Louis couldn’t fathom, but he hoped it was shame and regret.

Mrs. Barnes timidly retrieved the mic from Louis and nervously chuckled to lighten the mood, but Louis wouldn’t have it. He committed to glaring Dante into the dirt, showing him his heart, and how its determination would never waver, even in the face of death.

“Ahh, okay, ahaha. That’s uh…okay. Now I want you all to face whomever is next to you and do the same thing. Pick someone you don’t know very well if you can, and tell them about yourself. You have five minutes, go,” she said, setting the mic on the floor and addressing the two students who were still locked in eye contact. There was something deep going on here, but she didn’t know quite what it was. “Okay, while they’re doing that, I want you two to think about the things you like about each other. It could be appearance, it could be what you heard, anything about them that you find admirable. Keep thinking about it, and then when the five minutes is up, you’ll announce what it is,” she said, leaving the chair to go mingle with the other teachers on the floor.

Louis finally broke his stare and studied the ground instead; what could he say that was admirable about Dante? He’d have to go with dealing with his home life, that seemed to be a wormhole of misery. Still...it felt wrong to applaud him at all after all he’d done to him. Fake it ‘till you make it, right?

He found his mind wandering to Harry as it often did, and the pain he honed in on at his hole was indeed the warm and soothing reminder of their time together that Louis thought it would be. He shifted his weight side to side and relished in the protesting discomfort, wishing he could feel him inside one more time even for a moment, but he also knew they had a long time to do those kinds of things with one another. Before he knew it, the five minutes was up, and Coach Johnston sounded his practice whistle into the cacophony of chatter, effectively winning the room’s silence.

“Alright, have we got it all figured out?” Mrs. Barnes asked dumbly, smiling when she saw at least five nods from the audience. Good enough. “Okay, Dante we started with you, so you will go next. What do you like about the boy in front of you?” she asked, handing off the mic and clasping her hands in her lap.

It was difficult for Dante to meet Louis’ eyes, but he knew the boy’s were on him, and he wasn’t going to be outdone. He took a deep breath and looked right into them, casually wondering if he’d ever noticed they were different colours. “Louis is a very resilient and fearless person. He doesn’t let much get him down, and even if it does, he won’t ever show you…when most people would. I gotta say his piano playing is actually really good, I was impressed, and I think he might even win state comp. I also like the fact that he has one blue eye and one brown. It's just like Bowie, and I love him.I never noticed Louis had them, and it’s really groovy,” he confessed, blushing from his forehead to his neck and thrusting the microphone to the counselor.

Louis, and just about everyone else in the room, was taken aback by the words of actual _kindness_ that had come from such a bully’s mouth, and Louis sought out the angrily sizzling Troy in the crowd, wondering what thoughts were floating through his mind right now. He probably felt betrayed.

In any case, because Dante had been so surprisingly pleasant, Louis decided he would be too, and he took the slippery mic hopefully for the last time to give sincere compliments to one of his biggest enemies. “Dante is more than he seems. There’s a complexity and a depth behind the football helmet that I’ll admit I never saw. It wasn’t because I wasn’t looking, I just...was definitely not shown,” he clarified, unable to get through all of this without at least a little bit of sass.

He heaved his shoulders up and down and just went for it, praying that this wouldn’t end in another bathroom attack when the opportunity arose. “He’s obviously gone through a lot of pain in his home life, and for that I say I’m sorry. Nobody, not even my _worst_ enemies, deserve to lose a parent. I think it’s really…admirable…that you want to help kids, and I encourage you start that journey here in high school. Kids all around you are depressed, you just need to try and feel their pain, and then you’ll understand. Also, you pack a really powerful punch,” he finished, even giving him the subtlest of winks whether he meant to or not. It fit the moment.

Dante’s lips parted imperceptively to anyone but Louis, and he shuffled his feet awkwardly, apparently rethinking his life and pondering the kind of person he wants to be. If that is indeed what is transpiring, then Louis just did his good deed for the year, and will be entirely satisfied with the rest of his senior year of high school.

“That was very well thought out, boys, well done,” Mrs. Barnes congratulated, giving them both a smile before addressing everyone else. “Alright, you guys. You heard how they did that, now I want you to do the same. Five more minutes, go,” she instructed, sitting back in her chair as the room exploded with conversation, looking as though she’d just saved a heart surgery patient with her bare hands…maybe she actually _had_ done something.

Louis’ cynicism to the entire prospect had been reasonably placed, but looking at the possibly warm expression on Dante’s face, Louis may be forced to change his opinion, and he hates doing that.

“You boys can go back to your seats now,” she said, removing herself from the chair and handing the microphone to the principal to conclude the assembly when the five minutes had passed.

Dante and Louis connected their gazes again and gave very slight smiles to one another, walking to the bleachers without breaking eye contact until it had been an unnecessarily long amount of time. Louis hopped up the bleachers and tried not to step on anyone’s hip, clawing his way further even when he did trip to get back to the comfort of Niall.

“That was legendary,” Niall shouted gleefully, pulling Louis up the last two steps and practically into his lap.

“I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings when I said I wasn’t happy before finding Harry. You have to understand, it was only for dramatic effect, of course you make me happy. You get that, right?” he demanded, fisting Niall’s shirt and imploring him to accept it.

“Louis, Louis, calm down,” the blonde cackled, removing Louis’ fist with some difficulty and patting him on the back. “It didn’t phase me one bit, ‘cuz I knew it was bullshit. Plus, it made your words that much more powerful. I’m always a taker for theatrical flair, you know that,” he reminded, nuzzling their noses together and mussing up Louis’ hair.

“Thanks, Shakespeare,” Louis laughed, straining his neck to the right to try and find Dante.

Niall leaned in so their faces were parallel and searched the room with Louis, already knowing what he was trying to find. “I can’t believe he said those things. Do you think it was genuine?” he asked, startling Louis because he hadn’t realized his best friend had gotten so close.

“In the beginning, maybe not…but towards the middle…yeah, I’m positive. You should have seen his eyes,” Louis said, giving up the scoping because there were far too many students to see past.

“You should have seen _yours_ ,” Niall noted, getting lost in the Bowie-like appearance Louis’ eyes had adopted. “You should change your last name to Bowie,” he added before he lost the quip in his thoughts. “You even look like him normally, but now?”

Louis laughed into his hands and shook his head, wiping at imaginary tears and clapping his hands. “That’s a good one,” he said, torn between serious and farcical.

“May I have your attention, please?” Mr. Wegsteen boomed, waiting the usual thirty seconds for the noise to die down. “I’d like to thank you all for your support and cooperation this morning. The assembly is over now, and if I could have everyone get to their first period class for the last half in an orderly fashion,” he begged, sighing heavily when the students erupted into a chaotic exit like someone had yelled ‘bomb.’

Niall and Louis slipped out without too much body slamming and fiercely hugged outside of the room, giving each other their goodbyes until lunch time. Louis watched Niall’s back for a few moments before chuckling and making his way toward the A-wing.

He was just nearing the office that sat on the edge of the wing when he heard a familiarly cold voice shout to him a tone that was a few degrees warmer than usual.

“What’s this about your eyes being two different colours?” Troy called, jogging up to Louis and stopping in his tracks when the beauty slowly looked over his shoulder, stabbing him in the heart with an unfairly ethereal and hypnotizing gaze.

Louis stood his ground, silently boring into Troy with his new and improved eyes and observing Troy almost drool in response. He was using his best model face with a slightly raised eyebrow and parted lips just to fuck with him, and he was very pleased to find that it was working.

Troy was prone to throwing insults at every chance he could get, but something was different in this moment; looking at the stunning Louis, he had this uncharacteristic enlightening epiphany that they are both humans who are just trying to make it in the world. How long this peace would last was unclear, but he could at least spare this day from catastrophe.

Louis spent no more time in the wordless interaction and turned with a flip of his hair, disappearing into the office before the spell broke and chaos took over instead. He didn’t watch where he was going as he bore witness to Troy’s dazed departure from the hall, and he cursed when he walked straight into the attendant lady’s desk and knocked against a telephone.

“Sorry,” he excused, righting himself and pulling the phone forward to where it was before it was jostled.

“Would you like to make a call?” she asked politely, assuming he was here to request his parents to chaperone Spring Fling.

Louis was two seconds from declining the offer, but the sudden vision of his Mother he had jarred him into changing his mind, and he silently nodded instead.

“Just dial nine. Two minutes,” she informed, returning her cat-eye glasses to her face and sticking her nose back into her papers.

Louis swallowed the spit in his mouth and lifted the phone from its holder, spinning the dial to nine and waiting for the monotonous tone to sound, then adding his old home number to finish the process. His heart quickened as he listened to the blaring sound of ringing, and he hoped his Mother was walking to pick up the line, and not his stupid Father.

“Hello?” came a timid and female voice, washing over Louis like a wave of cool water on a sweltering day.

“Mom,” he whined, turning his back to the attendant lady so he could have the illusion of privacy.

“Sweetie, how are you?” she gasped, a happy giggle taking over her words.

“I’m fine, Momma. I’m at school right now, but I wanted to let you know that I’m okay, and I need to know how you are too,” he said quickly, realizing he wouldn’t have much time once the office worker knew his call had nothing to do with the dance.

“Oh, hunny, I’m okay,” she soothed, confusing Louis because he didn’t know if he could trust it. “Your Father has changed a little bit since you’ve been gone. I know that may be a bit painful to hear, and I almost wish it weren’t true, but he’s practically turned over a new leaf. He doesn’t even drink as much as he used to, and I’ve sort of halted my plans to leave. If he goes back to his old ways, I promise I will, but he hasn’t yelled at me in a while,” she informed.

Louis was torn between two reactions; it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t offended that everything magically fixed itself when he left, but an even bigger lie to say that he wasn’t glad his Mother didn’t have to bear the weight of his cruelty. “That’s good, Mom. It doesn’t matter how I feel, because I found someone, I just wanted to make sure you were safe,” he said, forcing his tears to remain at bay harder than he’d ever forced anything in his life—except maybe a few smiles here and there.

“Found someone? What’s that mean, baby?” she asked, stuck on that sentence because it begged to be addressed.

“It means I found someone. We’re in love,” he gushed, wishing he had the time to spill all the beans.

“Excuse me, how long is this supposed to take?” the desk lady interrupted, losing her patience because she needed the phone as well.

“Sorry, just a moment,” he said to her, turning back and speaking into the phone to conclude the conversation. “I’m sorry, Mom, I can’t talk anymore for now, but I’ll call you again soon, okay? Then I’ll give you the number of where I’m at, I’ll tell you everything you wanna know. I love you,” he professed, coughing to cover the small whimper than had begun.

“Okay, sweetie. I love you too, to the moon and back, don’t forget that. I look forward to hearing from you, and I’m so happy you met someone. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am, Mom. Bye,” he called, leaning down toward the phone box and making it clear he was just about to hang up.

“Bye bye, dear,” she seconded, Louis clicking the phone down directly afterward.

“Thanks for that,” he responded, quickly retreating from the office before she could hound him on making unnecessary phone calls.

A huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders and he noticed a bounce in his step as he walked to his first period class, unable to stop it if he tried. _She’s okay._

 

\---

 

Louis was sat in history class with a lighter-mooded Dante on the other side of the room, stealing his focus a few times because he still couldn’t judge if he should trust this change or not. He purposefully never got caught staring because he didn’t want himself being the reason the peace ended, but his peripherals were intact, and he knew Dante had stolen a few glances too. _What the fuck is going on?_

He zoned out completely while Mr. Chilton yammered on about Ancient Rome, thankfully not bringing Hadrian or Alexander up at any point in the lecture. Although, of course Alexander wouldn’t come up; he was from Macedon, and “not around for this time period.” Oh, the ignorance. Louis spared no more worries on the topic and dove into his vocabulary paper, making it seem as though he was taking notes on Mr. Chilton’s lecture, when really he was getting a headstart on the homework.

He entered such a diligent state of zoned that the bell hit him like a baseball bat, and by the time he looked up from his paper, his classmates had already begun filing out of the room. He rushed to pack his things and follow them out, but he caught sight of the envelope resting at the bottom of his bag and pursed his lips together so he wouldn’t laugh: the essay of unknown content.

He grabbed it and stood from his desk, quietly walking over to Mr. Chilton and clearing his throat once he was before him.

“I see you, Louis. Give me one second,” Chilton said, finishing a few lines of writing before setting his pen down and giving Louis his full attention. “Yes?”

“Here you go,” Louis said, passing off the envelope and backing down the aisle to retrieve his backpack.

“What in God’s name is this?” Mr. Chilton countered, flipping the envelope over and scrunching his eyebrows up in puzzlement.

“It’s the uh…it’s the essay on Hadrian that you asked for. Sorry, I accidently put it in an envelope?” he poorly excused, shrugging into his backpack and sprinting out of the room in a moment of weakness. Monday be the most interesting history class he would ever have.

 

~~~

 

Mr. Chilton stared at the door as it slowly closed after Louis bolted out of it and shook his head in exasperation, folding one leg over the top of his other one and leaning back in his swivel chair with the envelope in his curious hands. He had free period now, and that meant ample time to read the assignment that felt unnaturally thick with pages. He hadn’t expected anything particularly lengthy, but he can’t deny he was intrigued with what he would find.

He carefully tore the envelope open and shook the papers out, unfolding and straightening them to the best of his ability before he couldn’t take it anymore, holding them up to read the words in an unfamiliar and exquisite—almost definitely not Louis’—penmanship:

~

_Dear Mr. Chilton,_

_Since I am oh so fond of speaking for Hadrian, allow me to write you this mandatory report in his first-person perspective. I hope it will live up to the expectations you have set for me._

_You may have already supposed, but my name is Aelius Traianus Hadrianus of Rome. I was born on February 1st in the year 76 a.d., and it was quite an exciting era to come into. I had a Father called Publius Aelius Hadrianus Afer, and a Mother called Domitia Paulina, and they were my own personal and beloved King and Queen. Not as commonly mentioned in my family was my twin brother Auron, lesser spoken of because he deserves nothing more, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve never heard of his existence. Though he was several minutes older than I, he had been born with an unstable mind, which we would come to find the hard way, and was deemed unfit to rule the Empire by the then current Emperor, Trajan, my father's paternal cousin. Nothing outwardly wrong with me, the second son, led to Trajan choosing me as his heir instead._ _My brother, and half of Rome, didn't take that well, but that's a different story._

_History would lead you to believe my Mother violently erased all extended and blood-related competition in my path before I took the throne, but that is a disgusting lie only told to tarnish our family’s reputation. The truth is my dear innocent Mother hardly had the energy to walk about our own home, much less travel to other districts and snuff out potential heirs that could challenge us once Trajan passed. And they certainly did. The Emperor had specifically chosen me, and I grudgingly accepted, but that would do nothing to stop citizens who were unhappy with his choice to bring it forth in a fight to the death with me after he wasn’t around to stop it anymore. Many, and I mean an uncountable amount of many, did._

_Bringing my point back to its initial purpose though, any murder of my so-called competition came from neither my Mother, nor I, who were both wholly confident about my inheritance and ability to fend off any aggressors, and that is a fact. I cannot deny that it happened, but we had nothing to do with it. If I had to guess, it was probably Marcius...also a different story._

_At age somewhere between eleven and thirteen, that wretched day the Gauls invaded, both my parents' lives were lost in our home while I was away, compliments of Auron and his daggers, and he burned it all away afterward. The house and my parents were long gone by the time I got there. I never received a confession from Auron, but I've never doubted his fault._

_Following this loss, Trajan took both us orphaned boys into his care, and that truly began my uphill race to the top. Living in Palatine meant I was supplied with his best warriors as daily training buddies, and I took every rigorous dueling session possible to gain unbeatable power, infamously surpassing them all by the time I was fifteen years old, all the while sinking my brother’s shadowed and hateful gaze into the back of my head._

_The older I grew, the more of a catch I was to the females of Rome, and by the age of sixteen, I was forcibly married to a snake called Vibia Sabina to protect the bloodline of Trajan, and my own. She was the daughter of Trajan’s niece, Matidia Augusta, and though she was sought after by all the men in Rome, to me, she was a vile and wretched adversary who had been unfairly sprung onto my path. It would be quite a while until I was to become Emperor and need to produce an heir, and I was angry over having to deal with that kind of bond so preemptively. I didn’t ever want to, in fact, considering I’m an exclusive homosexual, but very few knew that about me._

_At that same time, I was already in a relationship with one of the few. A beautiful boy by the name of Antinous, with whom I’d grown up with and fallen for early on in our lives. He frequently attempted to convince me that forfeiting my reluctance and fornicating with her was what was best for me, but I was difficult to persuade. His reasoning was that he and I had already taken each other’s vows and virginities, so Sabina already lost a race that was trying to be won. She was hopeless in getting something that solely belonged to Antinous, and she could never have that part of me, but that was my exact reasoning against it. I did not wish to be shared. I was his, and I wanted to be his forever._

_Unfortunately for us, that dream would never see the light. As I fought in the Dacian wars at age eighteen, and made quite a name for myself in doing so, Antinous grew to be increasingly jealous and envious of Sabina. For it was her name that was constantly uttered before and after mine, her presence beside me at every event and feast, and her Empire to inherit with me as my other half._

_This caused the last words I spoke to him to be compiled of frustration and annoyance as I tried to board my ship, pleading him to realize that he was the one who suggested I go through with the facade in the first place. It was to my shock and utter devastation upon returning to hear of both their deaths. I was pointedly and suspiciously led to believe that Antinous poisoned Sabina and then drowned himself, and though both ultimate fates were true, I will never sway from my conviction that Auron had something to do with it._

_Shortly after receiving the knowledge that my wife and lover were deceased, my brother Auron mysteriously disappeared from the city with no whispers of his possible whereabouts. Something he’d done incessantly in the past, so it wasn’t a particularly incriminating escape, but the timing deserved to be questioned. I didn’t see him for quite some time, and in his absence, I continued to trudge through life with the full belief that I would be alone for the rest of my days while I desperately tried to be content with that._

_However, I needn’t have worried about such existential crises, for that news had gradually eaten away at my soul, and it ultimately ripped every last emotion I had out of me, eventually leaving no more room for depression and mourning. The only thing left to focus on was training and wars; bloodshed and victory. The rage of conflict and the raw feelings that were borne from it became the only two things that mattered to me, and I couldn’t have cared less about ruling Rome. I just needed release._

_I’ll also mention that over the years, I’ve read in books that I was only crowned Emperor because Trajan’s wife, Plotina, kept his death an intentional secret so that no lingering heirs could imminently challenge me, but that entire family absolutely adored me, and I them. Let it be known that there was no menacing plot devised between Plotina’s or my one-tracked minds—it was a unanimous decision made by the Empire._

_I generally abhor talking about my accomplishments as a human, I’ll have you know. I’m only doing this because I want to be helpful, but this isn’t enjoyable. Every concrete thing regarding the wall in Britannia and the recreated Pantheon, me being governor of this and conqueror of that and so forth can all be found in Louis’ history book. Littered with inconsequential inaccuracies, but I ignore them because they are simply as I said. Inconsequential. For the likes of you, anyway._

_Getting back to the tale, I was twenty two years old when everything changed. If you thought my life was high-strung before, nothing could amount to the drastic changes I would undergo in a few short months, but I couldn’t have known any of it at the time. Had I known, perhaps I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this to you now, but a many positive things came from the transformation, so can I really complain?_

_I was on a mission to acquire stolen battle plans the Greeks had looted from the Gauls, and we’d agreed to meet on the small island of Dokos; a very rocky and uninhabitable cough of land that doesn’t serve much purpose other than a secret meet-up location. While en route in my ship, the whole thing was commandeered by an impressively surprising fleet attack from the Gauls, who had obviously been tipped off by one of the Greeks, or perhaps in the right place at the right time, but the former is far more likely. The success of the battle plan mission was immediately compromised, and I knew the odds were not in our favour if we chose to retaliate, so I had to let them take me—the asset they wanted most._

_I was bound and thrown into a brig of reprehensible condition and sailed all the way back to what is now called France and Germany to be held captive and used as a bartering chip against Trajan to ensure their territory security. It was no secret and certainly not honest to deny that my dearest Roman Empire took great joy in widening our stretch of territory, and unforgivable problems with the neighboring Gauls had always been, and always would be. However, by capturing me, they ended up getting a great deal more than they asked for._

_For when I was hauled into the musty dungeon cell at their “headquarters,” for lack of a better understandable term, I was accompanied by a man of incredible strength who had been sitting patiently inside the cell for the Gods only know how long, and I certainly peaked his interest. Over the following days together, we grew more talkative, and he proved himself time and time again to be stronger and faster than any human on Earth. I originally thought him to be a God, but over the centuries, I learned the less miraculous truth of his identity, and what I let myself become by accepting his offer of shared strength, but I shan’t utter those details here and now._

_He pledged that he would give me his equal power to help me defeat the Gauls and get back to Rome so I could take the throne and be the best and strongest leader the Empire had ever seen. How foolish I was to accept without a second thought, but what else could I have ever wanted? It was inevitable that I would make that choice, and I still do not think I would choose differently now, had I known all of what it entailed at the time._

_Once I got a handle on my new and improved abilities, we both escaped by busting out of the dungeon and killing every Celt in sight on our way to the surface so we could flee into the mountains. I needed a bit of training to get me used to what only he knew, because obviously I wouldn’t be able to get it anywhere else, or so I thought at the time. However, that training was merely compiled of a lengthy murderous spree, and I quickly became a monster who only knew his own name because his single member of company would sometimes say it to him._

_Over the next couple of months, I came to learn by whispers of townsfolk wherever we happened to be that Auron had returned to Rome after hearing of my disappearance, and was to seize the throne if my absence proved to be a permanent one. I discovered that Trajan had fallen quite ill from the stress of my apparent death, and a time limit on my return had been set. With such knowledge came the much needed reminder of exactly who I was, and what I needed to do, and so I finally found myself after losing all traces entirely throughout the violent rampages with that unnamed man. He had a name of course, but I will never speak it again._

_I rushed back home with little to no goodbyes to one whom I could barely call a friend at the time, much less now; and I went right to Trajan’s chambers to witness his deathly body atop his bed. What was jarring to me was finding my blasted twin brother Auron standing over him like an incubus, pathetically eager to take the throne following Trajan’s last breath. Of course that hope of his fell short with my reappearance, but it was interesting to note he had somehow come upon the same strength I had been given. It was an unexpected twist to my long and arduous story, indeed._

_Trajan was conscious enough to re-declare me the first and only successor to his throne, and the fire in Auron’s eyes from that weak announcement still burns my face to this day. I should have remembered it more vividly when it really mattered, but I am far too forgiving for my own good. My brother made a valiant attempt to kill me that night as I was undressing in my room, but we were never equal to each other before, so being granted the same strength did nothing to balance the differences between us. He failed rather miserably and fled with a string of passionate threats to always and without fail destroy everything I would ever come to love. I really should have listened._

_With Trajan’s death a few days later, I became the Emperor of Rome. I believe it was October 16th, 98 a.d., but I can’t be sure. As I previously mentioned, all the important deeds I completed from that year until 138 is already decently documented, and it’s pointless, not to mention tiring for me to repeat._

_Something you don’t know is that over the first months of my inheritance, I developed a blazingly passionate infatuation with one of my servant boys, and claimed him to be mine. It wasn’t long until the infatuation grew to be a small form of love, and he was my cherished outlet for the life I had lost ever since I was put in that dungeon man’s path. He made me feel alive in ways you cannot even begin to fathom, and I made the decision that I would eventually give him my strength as well so that we could have a forever together. For the benefit of your unintentional curiosity that I’m sure you wish you could ignore, his name was Damianos; a Greek name that was given by his Britannian mother that essentially meant ‘to tame.’ Fitting, though you can’t understand why._

_He remained at my side until I was technically twenty six, though I had not truthfully aged a day, and it was clear to me that no future made sense without him in it, so naturally, fate would have him dead. This time, Auron left bigger hints that it had been his doing, but I won’t go into that either. I never saw him after that until many centuries later._

_After the loss of Damianos, a death I could have stopped if I’d just made up my mind and gave him my strength, I lost every shred of will to be a good and responsible leader to my Empire, and I faked my own untimely death so I would be free from the shackles of my duties._

_I waited around in the shadows watching from afar, assisting my aging armies in their battles under all of my successors until 457, when the Vandals took on the Roman Empire with an army led by a rather formidable advantage. Alexander. That’s when my creeping came to its close, because that advantageous individual was gorgeous, tempting, of my kind, and everything I could ever want wrapped up in one short and dangerous body, and we intentionally let the Vandals destroy the only place I’d ever considered a home to let people have their chance at growth, and I stayed at his side until the turning of the sixteenth century, when Auron did his thing and took him from me too._

_That is every bit of information you deserve, probably a bit more to be honest, but you really did open a can of worms by dropping this assignment on my Louis’ plate._

_I hope this was somewhat educational, whether you choose to see it that way or not is your prerogative, I have done my part. I must admit I was highly amused that Louis had been made to write a report on me, and I had to write it myself because nobody could know as much as I do. Don’t punish people for standing up for others when they are made a mockery of, Mr. Chilton. Those people change the world._

_All the love,_

_Hadrian of Rome._

~

Mr. Chilton stared unblinkingly at the signature, never more speechless or confounded in his life than he was right now. He skimmed through the document again and almost crossed his eyes with how fast his brain tried to process everything at once, and only one string of words could accurately depict his current state of mind. “... What the fuck?”

 

~~~

 

\---

 

“Louis, wait,” Mr. Carey called after the final bell had rung, ushering him over to his desk so he could talk to him before he let him go.

Louis halted his departure and spun around on the ball of his foot, quickly shuffling his feet over to his music teacher with a huge smile on his face. Today had been a good day. “Yeah?” he asked, wondering why Mr. Carey was waiting for every single student to leave before speaking.

Once the door had finally closed, Mr. Carey stood from his chair and leaned over his desk, fiercely staring into Louis’ eyes and rapidly shifting his gaze between the two. “That is so incredible. I was so confused when that kid mentioned them at the assembly, but I saw them when you came into class. Sorry, I just wanted to get a closer look,” he excused, backing up once he’d fully seared them into his brain. “How did that—”

“I have no idea,” Louis replied automatically before he had to confront another curious question.

“You just woke up like that?” Mr. Carey asked dubiously, a random change of this magnitude sounding impossible to his own ears.

“Yeah,” Louis lied, shrugging his shoulders while he feigned ignorance. “It is a bit odd, but I really don’t have any answers.”

“Huh…” Mr. Carey hummed, fingering his mustache in contemplation. “How’s life been treating you, Louis?” he continued, having not spoken too much since dropping him off after the performance.

“It’s actually really good,” Louis answered truthfully, unable to delve into any specifics, but figuring Mr. Carey deserved some form of explanation. “I found someone that I really love, as you may have heard, and life is just going really smoothly for the first time.”

“That’s great, Louis. I’m really happy to hear that. Any more trouble with bullies?”

“Ah, well. That kid today was one of them, and he kind of…I can’t be totally confident, but something tells me I won’t have to worry about him anymore,” he mused, praying that the entire football pack adopted the same decision and left him alone for good.

“Yeah, that actually seemed to have some impact. I was surprised, to be honest,” Mr. Carey admitted, knowing how much of an oblivious dreamer Mrs. Barnes could be.

“Believe me, I was too,” Louis agreed, laughing in the face of the unexpected progression his school life had made today. “Sorry, but I kind of have to go now. I’ll talk to you more later this week, okay? Got a new piece I’m gonna bring in and try out to add to the final,” he said excitedly, throwing Mr. Carey a wave as he jogged to the door.

“Oh wait, that reminds me!” Mr. Carey called before he could leave, forcing him to turn around.

“Yeah?”

“The Golden Gate Festival. Do you know when it is and everything? Where it is?” he asked, already preparing to write everything down in case he didn’t have a clue.

“It’s in three weeks, right?” Louis asked, walking back to the desk because it was true that he didn’t know.

“Two days after Spring Fling. It’s on the 21st, that’s a Sunday. Are you going to remember that? You need to be there at four o’clock on the dot for roll call and pre-ritual stuff. The show starts at six-thirty, and will likely run until about nine, but sometimes it’s longer. Musicians are unfortunately always last,” he grumbled, writing down the address of the community center in Boise, along with the date and time. “Here you go. Put that somewhere you’ll see it a lot, like a refrigerator or something.”

Louis choked on a laugh over the prospect of putting a note on the blood fridge that he’s never opened before in his life. “Will do,” he said in spite of his amusement, tucking the note away in the small front pocket of his frumpy backpack.

“I’ll of course hound you when the time comes. Will you need me to give you a ride do you think?” he asked helpfully, completely willing to sacrifice getting interrogated by the board of education if it meant Louis winning the festival scholarship.

“I should be fine, but I’ll let you know,” Louis said with a grin. “Now I really have to go, thanks for your help!” he said, darting out the door without another word.

“Bye, Lou,” Mr. Carey responded, chuckling to himself after his favourite student had left. Such an interesting individual, with interesting eyes to match. His life would take him places, that’s for sure.

 

\---

 

“Ah, _there_ you are,” Niall greeted, pulling Louis into a one-armed hug and vibrating with excitement over the day being over and the boyfriend meeting being imminent.

“Here I am,” Louis confirmed with a breathy laugh, rubbing at his stomach for illustration to his devised plot of stalling. He had to bring Niall over decently close to sunset or it would be too weird to explain, and the only thing he could think to fill that time was going out to eat.

“Sorry? What was that?” Niall called, cupping a hand over his ear to hear the statement again because a loud red-coloured Thunderbird had rudely interrupted with its bone-rattling engine’s horsepower.

“I said do you wanna go out for a bite with me?” Louis repeated in a shout, Niall jumping away and rubbing his ear in annoyance. The Thunderbird had already left, so maybe screaming into his ear hadn’t been necessary—he’s a little spacey, alright?

“Sure, Lou. You hungry?” Niall asked, looking both ways in the parking lot before letting them step onto it. High school kids are reckless drivers.

“Yeah, I am. And I know that Harry is out running errands, or he said so this morning, so it might be best to wait a bit…but we’ll go over there, I promise,” Louis rushed to add when Niall’s eyes narrowed to slits in suspicion.

“Alright. I’m game. Where do you wanna go?” the blonde relented, opening the truck door for Louis when they got there because his Mother raised him right.

“Kinda wanna go to Hudson’s,” Louis suggested as Niall nodded his assent.

“Was hoping you’d say that,” he said, closing the door and running around to hop in the driver’s seat and take them to only the best burger joint on the planet.

 

\---

 

They had only just draped their coats around the backs of their chairs when the typical raspy-voiced diner lady waltzed up and dropped two glasses of water on the table, checking her reflection in a pocket mirror and wiping the lipstick off her teeth before hoarsing out a delightful “What can I get ya, boys?”

“I’ll get the double cheeseburger with BBQ sauce and no onions, please,” Louis said politely, taking a small sip of his water and looking to Niall as he contemplated.

“‘Kay, and for you?” she asked, joining Louis in expectantly staring at the blonde.

“Er…I’ll have the same thing he’s having, but with onions…and a coke, please,” he stammered, always cracking under pressure when someone asks what he wants.

“Comin’ right up,” she said as she scribbled the orders onto her notepad. “Did you want anything to drink?” she added, pointing at Louis with her pen.

“Oh, no, I’m fine with water, thank you,” he said, holding up the glass to be extra convincing.

The woman nodded and waddled back over to the kitchen, screaming out the order and tacking the little paper to a rotating contraption for the chef to reference as he needed it.

“So—” Niall began, leaning forward over the table like there was mistletoe somewhere above them. “—tell me about him.”

“What?” Louis laughed, urging Niall back with a finger in the dip between his collarbones. “Why would I tell you about him when you’re about to meet him anyway? You’ll find out everything I could say.”

“Maybe about his _appearance_ , but I wanna know the stuff that won’t come up in conversation. The _private_ bits,” Niall smirked, thanking the waitress when she messily dropped his coke onto the table, throwing napkins down for him to clean the spillage with because she couldn’t care about it herself.

“Niall, you have no sense of propriety,” Louis scolded, snatching a straw from the little flower vase of them on the table and dropping it into his water so his hands could stay decently dry. He detests condensation, or didn’t you know?

“I’m just sayin’. It would be nice to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

Louis outwardly snorted so hard that he blew bubbles in his water, letting the straw fall from his mouth as he coughed it out. Exactly who Harry is. That is not information to give out on the first day.

“Louis,” Niall said in a threatening tone, as one would to a child with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Alright, alright. He’s…Italian. Well, his family is from Italy. He inherited the estate he lives in from them, and they’re all very rich. He’s a musician. An artist. An everything, probably,” he muttered off to the side, furiously and begrudgingly impressed that Harry miraculously mastered everything he tried. Although, practice makes perfect, and that takes time, which Harry certainly has had ample amounts of.

“A rich creative Italian in an estate? My, my, you do know how to pick ‘em,” Niall praised, stroking his imaginary beard as he wondered what the boy would be like. “It’s Harry, right? Just checking.”

“Harry, yes,” Louis confirmed.

“And he’s young, you say? All this and he’s still our age?” Niall remarked respectfully, wishing he’d had such a good start at adult life.

 _Harry…young._ Louis clenched his fists under the table and nodded around the straw as he sipped more water in lieu of responding with words. The whole prospect of today was severely dehydrating him anyway.

“What else?” Niall implored, pushing his hands under his thighs and cocking his head to the side.

Louis searched his mind for any relevant detail that he could unveil about Harry that wouldn’t simultaneously put him under fire. A sudden thought struck him like a bolt of lightning and he slowly smirked at Niall, setting the blonde on edge and riddling him with sudden impatience.

“What?!”

“He has a friend,” Louis lilted mysteriously, the sly grin never leaving his face.

“A friend?” Niall repeated, unsure where Louis was going with this fact.

“A _gay_ friend…who would without question be incredibly _into you_ ,” Louis said with confidence, watching Niall light up like a firework. He wasn’t exactly sure if Zayn was completely gay or not, but he definitely wouldn’t turn a boy down, that’s been made obvious.

“How do you know that?” Niall said skeptically, his emotions still inarguably perked up from Louis’ telling reveal.

“Because you would love him. And who couldn’t love you? Your personalities are like nearly identical. I think you’d hit it off right away,” Louis wisely theorized, thanking the stars that he’d found a way around talking about Harry. Zayn is all Niall would want to hear about now.

“Tell me about him,” he demanded, never moving his eyes from Louis even when their food was put on the table by the diner lady.

“Thank you,” Louis went to say, but she’d already gone. He moved his neck back like a chicken and frowned at her disappearance before stretching it back out and addressing the unwavering Niall. “I can only really tell you what he looks like. I don’t know him that well yet,” he warned, getting an exasperated flick of Niall’s wrist and a nod of his head in return. Niall would take anything he could get.

“Yes, get to the point,” he demanded, taking a huge bite of his burger and internally groaning over the fact that Louis puts BBQ sauce on hamburgers. It really wasn’t all that fantastic.

“Well, he’s very tall. Choppy, kind of shoulder-length, kind of not black hair. A darker and olive-ish skin complexion. Wears a lot of black, has a lot of jewelry. Really chiseled face with bright greenish brownish eyes…”

“That’s a lot of ish’s and kind of’s, Louis,” Niall muffled around his burger, trying to paint an accurate picture but finding it difficult with so much unhelpful ambiguity.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m crap at explaining things. I did only meet him once, you know,” he defended, digging into his burger before Niall asked another question and delayed the process even further. “Trust me, he’s fucking gorgeous.”

“Am I meeting him tonight?” Niall asked after he swallowed, sucking down about a third of his coke in one go.

“No, probably not,” Louis supposed, rethinking that rejection when Niall’s face fell. He still wanted him to be excited about Harry. Maybe he should have saved the mention of Zayn for afterward. “But maybe we could have Harry call him?”

Niall tilted his head in thought and attacked his burger again, not tasting any onions in it, but whatever. “It’s okay if he can’t…but I _will_ meet him,” he stressed, daring Louis to disagree with his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” Louis assured, the two falling into silence as they finished their burgers.

Tonight would definitely be interesting in every sense of the word, and Louis just hoped that Harry could act human enough to fool Niall, because it really hadn’t taken Louis long to catch on. Granted, Louis had done a large amount of snooping to figure it out, but even if he hadn’t, the lack of a heartbeat would serve as a rather bulky clue. Harry was pretty obviously of a different species, but Niall wouldn’t already be expecting the unnatural, so maybe that’s not what he’ll see…hopefully.

 

\---

 

“Okay, pull over here,” Louis instructed, leading Niall to the same place he picked him up at every day.

“Oh, no, you’ve gotta be kidding me! What are we pulling off here for?” Niall whined, reluctantly bringing his truck to a stop and killing the engine. He wasn’t sure what to think, but this didn’t feel right. Was Louis jipping him?

“Because we have to walk the rest of the way, now come on,” Louis urged, sliding himself down the drop from the passenger seat and swinging the door closed.

Niall stared at the top of Louis’ head in tired confusion, eventually giving up and following him out with a disgruntled sigh. He walked around the truck, after making sure he had his keys, and stood beside Louis, anxiously awaiting the next step.

“Follow me,” Louis said intentionally weirdly, eating up the waves of trepidation that Niall was so strongly exuding. He checked his watch to see that it was 5:45 (he’d stalled as much as possible), and this was good for them. Harry would be up soonish, and Louis reckons that he could kill the gap in time pretty efficiently.

The pair walked into the depths of the forest and Niall groaned when the land started to decline, dreading the walk back up that he’d inevitably have to make. There were a few precarious moments in which one of them almost slipped and rolled to their deaths, but for the most part, they were holding their own quite nicely.

“How much further is it?” Niall panted, being extra careful where he was placing his feet so he didn’t step directly on a pile of damp leaves.

“Any second now,” Louis responded, getting his first glimpse of the mansion’s top and making sure Niall was still busy looking at the ground. They took a few more steps and Louis couldn’t keep the suspense anymore, alerting Niall of where he should be directing his gaze. “There,” he said, scooting closer to the blonde and pointing to the mansion, instantly looking back to Niall’s face to witness the rollercoaster of reactions.

“You’re havin’ a laugh,” Niall chuckled, gulping when Louis deadpanned at him. “ _That_? You live _there_? That’s the—the—”

“The haunted mansion of Fortwright,” Louis finished for him, smugly grinning at Niall’s unadulterated and obliviously misplaced fear.

“So someone does live there then?” Niall asked with a shaky voice, his dread getting worse they closer they came to the old building, and the more of it became exposed without the blockage of trees.

“Harry lives here,” Louis said obviously, reaching the black fence and using it to help him the rest of the way down.

Niall copied the action though he wanted no part in this place; the rumours that have been drilled into him since he was a child were fresh in his mind. They say it’s a death trap. That no soul who enters can ever come out intact. That a demon resides in its bowels. That—“Louis, I can’t!” he protested amidst his worsening thoughts, gripping the fence and weakly standing with wobbling knees.

“Oh, get a grip, Niall. I live here,” Louis reasoned, grabbing onto Niall’s shirt and forcing him to continue.

“Are you sure?” Niall asked warily, his shifty eyes moving from Louis’ back to the mansion on their right like lightspeed. “You’re not just playing a prank on me? You _actually_ live here?”

“Yes, I do. And I can prove it when we go inside, but for that, I need you to shut up and come with me,” Louis laughed, rounding the corner of the fence and walking levelly to reach the gate.

Niall groaned and kept up the pace, grabbing onto Louis’ hand for safety… _Louis’_ safety of course. Niall’s not scared. Not at all. Louis passed through the gate and walked back up the same hill they’d descended, luckily for a shorter time, before the grounds evened out and he led the way up the stairs to the creepy-looking doors. With bats on them. “This is awful.”

“This is fascinating,” Louis corrected, pushing through the doors and flicking on the lights as he dragged Niall in behind him, letting him see the beautiful interior before he pissed himself in the near dark.

“Holy—” Niall breathed, losing all of his terror in a single moment as he was shown the most exquisite furniture and decorations covering every floor, wall, and ceiling.

Louis just giggled and kicked his shoes off, dropping his backpack onto the floor like it was full of bricks and inviting Niall to do the same. The blonde followed suit and lightly put his stuff down, taking slow steps into the living room and spinning around in a circle every few moments.

“This is amazing,” the blonde exclaimed, finding the fluffy couches by the fireplace and sinking into one because he was terribly overwhelmed in the best way possible. “Must admit, not what I was expecting.”

“Neither was I when I first came here,” Louis agreed, taking a seat on the cushion next to Niall and leaning back to relax while he could.

“Tell me about how you two met,” Niall pried, twisting around so he was sitting on his feet and facing the secretive Louis. “The first time you came here. I wanna know. He still isn’t home yet I assume? We’ve got time,” he pushed adamantly, poking Louis in the shoulder until he accepted the requests.

“The first time I came here _was_ the first time I met him. I kind of omitted to tell you a few things about that night I rolled down the cliff of death. Basically I had screwed my leg up, right? So I was wandering through the forest, and I ended up running into this place. I debated coming in or not, but I really needed a bandage so I did it anyway. Little did I know someone was living here, and uh…Harry found me and…helped me out,” he lied, additionally omitting that Harry had actually roared at him like a dragon and they hadn't technically met until much later.

“Oh, I see. So that’s how you two started talking,” Niall mused, still butthurt over the fact that Louis had never said anything, but he understood why he kept it a secret. This place as a whole is a huge secret, and Niall won’t ever tell a soul.

“Yeah, I kept coming back after school and stuff, and then I got kicked out of my house and moved here full-time. That meant I needed rides, so that’s why you’ve been—”

“Picking you up in front of the damn forest,” Niall cackled, all of the missing and shadowed pieces falling into place at long last.

“You got it,” Louis confirmed, trying to hide his emotions and appear put together, when in reality, he was exploding on the inside. Having been apart from Harry for so long, being in the same building as him without getting to see or touch him was agonizing. He shifted around as much as he could on his butt, but the soreness of his hole had basically stopped around lunch time, and there was nothing left to do.

He also didn’t know if it was his identity as a blood-partner or not, but for some reason, he could easily pick up Harry’s scent from where he was on the couch, and it was driving him wild with raw desperation. He inhaled as deeply and often as he could, masking the primal ability with long sniffs from a potential runny nose, rabidly chasing the comforting aroma and letting it calm him down.

“You okay, Louis?” Niall asked after the last sniff and troubled facial expression he witnessed, Louis snapping to attention like a rubber band.

“Huh?” he asked, setting aside his own selfish needs to convince Niall that everything was fine. He glanced at his watch and almost preened when he saw it was 6:02. How the time flew by so fast, he’ll never know, but he was extremely grateful to the mere fact that it had. “Yeah, I’m great,” he announced, holding his breath when he felt Harry stir.

 _How do I know all of this?_ he asked himself, stunned that he’d be able to track Harry’s movements and states of consciousness just by being in the general area. _Is this you, Alexander?_ he asked the presence in his mind that sometimes took over, getting nothing worthy of evidence in return.

Niall was in the middle of a sentence that Louis was poorly registering when his dearest Harry silently slunk out from the shadows of the first floor hallway. Louis didn’t expect his arrival so soon because he thought the only way out was down the actual stairs, but apparently this mansion held more secrets than just its owner.

“Harry!” he cried in joy, leaping over the back of the couch and flying into his lover like an arrow, wrapping his legs around his torso and discreetly taking in the scent he had been teased with for a stupid amount of time.

“I missed you too, my love,” Harry whispered into his ear, lowering him onto the ground regardless of how much neither of them wanted to part, and addressing the shell-shocked blonde boy peering over the couch with wide eyes. “Hello, Niall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well yeah, Harry was asleep that whole day, so how could he miss him? *Fun fact: Harry had dreamt all day of Louis being in the distance while he couldn't get to him or move at all. So yeah, he missed him haha.


	12. Truth Or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor confused Niall. He'll find out eventually.

“Uh…hi,” Niall said meekly, standing from the couch and rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. Harry was one of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen, can you really blame him for the nerves?

Harry took hold of Louis’ hand and led him to the couch so they could all sit down together. He heard the blood rush in the unfamiliar human’s veins, and he knew he was probably intimidating to be around, so he tried to lighten the mood as best he knew how. “What’s going up?” he asked lamely, reaching out and shaking the blonde’s hand for him because he was clearly too nervous to make the first move.

Louis rolled his eyes, but Niall only blanched at the odd greeting. “What’s…going on? You mean?” he asked, falling down onto the couch as the couple took their seats.

“Ah, yes. Yes, that is what I mean,” Harry rectified at once—apparently he’d gotten his slang mixed up. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Louis, but I’d like to know more,” he said politely, Louis holding in his laughter to the side. Niall’s complexion looked like a sheet of paper.

“Myself…myself…uh—” Niall stammered, looking to Louis as though he should give him some hints on who he was. Louis only protruded his neck forward expectantly, so Niall was forced to conjure facts about himself. “I’m the captain of the tennis club at our school. I drive a white truck. My last name is Horan. My best friend is Louis. I like shrimp, but I think crab is disgusting,” he babbled, gaining more confidence when Louis busted up in cackles. “Oh, alright, fuck it. You’re very astounding, I’m a bit flustered, sorry Louis.”

“Don’t mention it, cat. I think anyone would be. I certainly am,” Louis said under his breath, catching a knowing smirk from his vampire.

“Well, I guess it’s my turn,” Harry said engagingly, clapping his hands together as he thought of what was most important, but still sounded remotely human. “Well I don’t eat seafood, so I can’t really compare and contrast shrimp and crab, but I think I remember liking shrimp a long time ago. I do not believe I have ever played tennis either, but I used to be an amazing dueler. I was very into swordplay and fencing, all of that sort. I speak quite a few languages, and there’s little of the world that I haven’t seen,” he informed, hoping that those facts were human enough for both of their tastes.

“How have you traveled so young?” Niall asked in wonderment, eager to hop on whatever train would take him to the same opportunities.

“Well, my parents live abroad, you see. So anytime I wish to, I can call them up, and they will fly me out to see different cultures with them,” he lied flawlessly, snaking an arm around Louis’ back and giving him loving rubs under his shirt where Niall couldn’t see.

“That’s really cool. I gotta say, I was afraid to come here at first. This place has quite the reputation over its roof,” Niall admitted, taking a look around and sitting in awe at how very wrong he’d been.

“Yes, I’ve heard much about it. Looks rough on the outside, I assume that’s why people are wary of it,” he mused dishonestly, refraining from mentioning that the rumours are all pretty valid. When Martin and him had first arrived, the butler didn’t shy from luring nearby beauties into the mansion to feed from. He didn’t do it for long, but some rumours never die—especially the ones that aren’t just baseless rumours to begin with.

“People have wild imaginations,” Niall agreed, shifting his lips around and clearing his throat.

“Are you thirsty?” Harry inquired, realizing that humans couldn’t read themselves like vampires could and regretting the instant offer.

“Yeah, actually,” Niall said smoothly, not giving much thought to how Harry knew it so fast, because in his head, it had just been a random coincidence.

“What would you prefer? I have water, apple juice, orange juice, or lemonade,” he listed, thanking Martin in his head for getting all of those items on a recent nightly shopping trip. Which night, he couldn’t remember, but he hoped none of it had expired by now.

“Mmm…apple juice sounds lovely,” Niall gushed politely, thanking Harry as he hospitably stood to retrieve the fruit juice.

Both boys watched him go and Niall slid toward Louis like the couch was a slide, bending in half so the back of the furniture covered him from the view of the kitchen. “He’s fucking amazing,” he whispered, Louis making his iconic ‘v’ face and nodding slowly. 

“Yes, he is.”

“There’s something strange about him, but it’s like he’s from a different era. Or planet, for that matter,” the blonde passionately remarked.

Louis’ breath left his lungs once Niall had gotten so close to the truth. Of course _he_ didn’t know that, but Harry clearly wasn’t doing a good enough job. It was even funnier because Louis knew that Harry heard every word that Niall had just said—maybe he’d try harder now.

“One glass of apple juice, as per request,” Harry announced, presenting the glass to Niall and ignoring the fact that he’d accidentally just caused him to jump like a flea.

“Thank you,” Niall said sincerely, hiding his face in his glass while he drank it teaspoon at a time, biding his time because he didn't know what to say.

“So…how long have you known Louis?” Harry inquired, trying to fill the silence with things that Niall could freely talk about, moreover have a lot of information to stall with.

“Mm...” Niall hummed, swallowing the juice in his mouth and setting the glass down on the coffee table. Finally. Something he could talk about. “...well—”

“Master Harry, I _do_ believe I smell someone new here. Have we turned this house into a—”

“Martin!” Harry shouted overly politely, striking his butler with a look that said ‘say one more word and you’re dead.’ Martin had come out of absolutely nowhere and was leaning down over the railing of the second story while he sized Niall up hungrily. “So good of you to join the casual visitation.”

“Smell me?” Niall whispered to Louis, stealing Harry’s worried attention, but luckily not noticing it. “Do I smell?”

Harry was about to respond but Martin infuriatingly beat him to it, apparently asking for a swift demise after the human had left tonight.

“You, my dear, smell exceptionally spicy,” Martin sighed, dropping his chin into his palm and lazily dangling off the edge of the banister, gandering at Niall like he’d been shot in the ass by Cupid.

“Martin!” Harry hissed, softening his expression when Niall turned to look at him. “My sincerest apologies, Niall. This my good friend and horrible cousin, Martin. He was my Father’s sister’s…son’s son,” he stammered, giving the biggest and fakest smile he’d ever formed in his life. “You’ll have to forgive him and his strange words, he wasn’t raised right,” he said, sending a burning glare up to the psycho in question.

Understanding flashed on Martin’s features and he could have fainted when he finally realized that Niall had no idea what they were. He could have outed them all if he hadn’t been careful, and he very nearly had. “My dear cousin. How cruel of you to introduce me yourself,” he lilted, holding onto the personality he had made his first impression with because it would likely be suspicious if he dropped it now.

Harry knew exactly what he was doing and praised him in his head; for being incredibly stupid sometimes, Martin was actually an amazingly fast thinker. Good for tight situations. Especially ones as he got _himself_ into. Such as this.

Martin delicately skipped down the stairs and approached the blonde and enticing human, grabbing his hand and pulling it up to his lips. “Enchanté, mon cher,” he murmured, giving the hand a short kiss while he held his unneeded-anyway-breath because the scent was much too powerful to keep fangs in around.

“Êtes-vous Français?” Niall responded flawlessly, sending shivers through Martin’s spine.

“J'y suis né et y ai grandi. Et vous?” Martin shot back excitedly.

“Non, j’apprends le français à l’école,” Niall giggled flirtatiously.

Harry chuckled at their banter, but Louis was completely lost. “What’s happening?” he asked in confusion, the only one in the room who didn’t speak any French.

“I asked him if he was from France, and he said yes, then he asked me if I was, and I said no, I’m learning it at school,” Niall recited, a big proud smile on his smug face.

“How wonderful it is of you to speak to me in my native language,” Martin said dreamily, the attractive interaction making him lose a bit of his control. “I must say I am beyond pleased that a zesty aroma such as yourself would be in this estate at all because Harry’s tastes are much more—”

“Martin, can I speak with you?” Harry interrupted desperately, all but taking Martin by the neck and dragging him into the kitchen.

“What the hell was that?” Niall asked quietly, leaning down once again so he couldn’t be seen from the kitchen and imploring that Louis logically explain the weirdness.

 

~~~

 

“Fucking drink this, you animal,” Harry ordered, shoving a bag from the fridge at his butler and enviously watching him chug down every last drop. “You lose control like that one more time, and I’m gonna beat you into your grave. Control your damn self, he doesn’t know anything.”

“Sorry, Master,” Martin panted as silently as he could, the vibrating pulse of life creeping into his system and calming his desire. “I’ll be more careful.”

 

~~~

 

Louis mimed himself zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key, but that only made Niall more incessant.

“Are they really cousins? Harry’s Italian, that doesn’t make any sense. And what is this about smell?” he whisper-shouted, completely unaware that the vampires could hear their entire conversation.

“Aw, shit,” they both heard Harry groan from the kitchen, simultaneously wondering what it was about and finding out pretty quickly.

The front door flew open with a bang and Zayn in all his glory unexpectedly swept into the room, taking a deep breath and training his eyes on the speechless Niall. “Ahh…so the scent was coming from you,” he mused in appreciation, Louis facepalming off to the side. “Louis wasn’t wrong at all, you’re just delic—”

“Hello, Zayn!” Harry snapped obnoxiously. “A talk with you too? If you wouldn’t mind?” he ordered, beckoning Zayn into the kitchen with gestures that would be suicide to ignore.

Apparently Zayn’s suicidal. “Just a second, just a second,” he brushed off, walking closer to Niall and kneeling down before him, taking the same hand Martin had and holding it softly. “The world, my pet. Say the word, and I will give you the world,” he professed, bending down to sniff at Niall’s hand and kiss the warm skin. “Martin, keep your hands off this boy, it’s very distracting,” he huffed in irritation.

“ _Zayn. Now_ ,” Harry practically growled, finally getting through to the smitten immortal.

“Coming, oh wise and cultured one,” Zayn sassed, releasing Niall’s hand disappearing into the kitchen.

Martin came back out into the living room, but Niall was now solely fixated on one thing and one thing only. “ _That_ was Zayn?” he breathed to Louis, running his palm over the top of the kissed hand. How odd that hands and lips so cold could set such a fire after they'd left.

“The one and only,” Louis mumbled in exasperation, squinting his eyes when Martin turned several more lights on in the room.

“I think I’m gonna have a heart attack,” Niall answered, clutching his chest and slapping a hand to his cheek.

“You like him?” Louis gushed, happy that Niall had taken the fierce liking to him that he'd figured he would.

“ _Like him_? I think I’m in love with him,” Niall declared, a chorus of laughter coming from Louis and the kitchen, but the blonde didn’t see the correlation between the two. “I wanna be with him forever. I’d let him do anything to me,” he sighed in adoration, not even hearing Louis’ condescending snort.

“You really shouldn’t have said that,” he chuckled as the vampires fully entered the room with a healthier looking Zayn.

“Niall, Niall, Niall,” Zayn cooed, plopping down on the blonde’s immediate left and pressing their thighs together. “I am honoured to meet your standards,” he humbly thanked, hoping to paint the picture of nobility, but anyone who wasn’t Niall rolled their eyes.

Harry sat down to the right of Louis and Martin took the opposite couch, a disgruntled but surrendered fifth wheel. While everyone’s attention was on Niall and Zayn, Harry nuzzled into Louis’ neck with his nose, pressing his lips behind his ear and working his subtle way down to his shoulder.

“Meet them?” Niall challenged with a quick laugh. “You already passed any standard I could have possibly made,” he said shyly, stuck in his own world with the vampire and ignorant of the people around him.

Louis knew that Harry was silently asking a question with his affectionate ministrations, and he had a great answer for it. He shivered as Harry’s chilly breath danced around his neck like dry ice, deciding how he would best sneak away.

“Aww, he’s so sweet!” Zayn announced to the room, throwing a presumptuous arm around Niall and squeezing his shoulder.

“Hungry, Niall?” Louis suddenly asked, shooting up onto his feet and tripping over Harry’s knees to reach the kitchen. “Be nice to each other, I’ll be right back,” he said, eyeing Niall and Zayn on the couch with a motherly look of disapproval.

“Oh, we’ll be very nice. Won’t we, Niall?” Zayn purred, flashing a smile at the human and making his blue eyes gloss over in fascination.

“I’ll just…go follow him then,” Harry awkwardly added, making direct eye contact with Martin and telling him to stay right where he was. His butler might be a little frustrated, but Zayn is unpredictable, and he is young. Terrible combination, and someone needs to be there at all times while Niall is still oblivious to exactly what he was in the arms of.

Martin rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, nodding his head cooperatively and shooing Harry off into the kitchen where he needed to be. Any more couch nuzzling and they both would have lost their minds.

 

~~~

 

Harry took one step into the kitchen and spotted Louis leaning against the far corner without his shirt, making Harry swoon at the sign. He had one arm wrapped around his midsection and the other bent at the elbow to graze his knuckles back and forth across his lips, his mesmerizing eyes searing Harry and speaking to him in the language of sex. Telling him to come get him, and to do it with haste.

Louis looked like a mystical and hypnotizing siren of the ocean, or a mermaid who’d gotten his legs, and Harry was the lone fisherman. The starving, desperate, tortured fisherman. Louis was in control here, and Harry couldn’t be happier prey.

“Good thinking giving some to those two,” Louis said quietly, giving Harry a sly wink.

“Yeah…now it’s my turn,” Harry darkly growled, ascending on Louis like a full pack of wolves. He crossed the distance between them in three wide steps and smashed their bodies together, licking into his mouth and running his hands down to Louis’ arse and everywhere in-between as he walked them backwards toward the counter.

Louis got the idea and jumped up with little struggle, eager to prevent gravity from dragging him down. He moaned into their kiss and sharply inhaled when Harry pressed their crotches together, keening as Harry began to kiss his way down to Louis’ neck. Louis tightened his legs around Harry’s waist and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling and await the paint temporarily morphing out of focus the second the teeth pierced his skin.

Harry roughly grabbed Louis’ neck and extended his fangs, diving into the crevasse and burrowing into his favourite spot, Louis’ hands tangling deeper into Harry’s hair as a direct result. Harry was glad to see that Louis’ was desperately rolling his hips on the counter and staying active because it meant that he was getting more used to sexual and fang pleasure at the same time. This meant they could be rougher and more present than ever before, and Harry couldn’t wait to test him on it.

For now, grinding would have to work, and he responded in kind, one hand resting on and encouraging Louis’ hips at the small of his back, the other holding him by the hair. He wanted both hands on Louis’ arse, but the reason he couldn’t allow that was simple; even if Louis’ arms were wrapped around him, he could still lose energy and fall back at any moment, and it was better that Harry keep his head in place for him so that he doesn’t cause any deep cuts with his lodged teeth.

Louis’ breath was weak and shuddery, and his mewling was loud—just how Harry liked it. He knew the two vampires in the living room were completely stuck listening to this and wishing they were in the same position, but the jealous pricks weren’t. Harry was. He wanted everyone to be ravaged with envy, and he needed them to know beyond shadow of a doubt, regardless of whether or not they already did, that Louis was utterly, absolutely, and entirely his.

Vampires by general instinct are horrendously possessive creatures over a human they deem their own. If anyone or thing even looks at them wrong, it can cause a monstrous shitload of problems. To make themselves perfectly clear, vampires very outwardly and publicly displayed their affection and domination of said human, warning anyone who wants a taste that they’ll have to get through them first.

Harry reveled in how loud Louis was being, and he didn’t want to stop at all, but he had to momentarily pull back to make use of both of his hands. Louis grumbled, but he changed his attitude when Harry’s hands went straight down to the buttons of his jeans, opening them up and reaching into Louis’ underwear to take hold of his aching cock. He reached over on the counter to grab a hand towel and drop it on his stomach, and then the race was back on.

Harry spared no extra time on preparations and entered the same marks with his teeth, working his hand as he worked his tongue, turning Louis into a twitching, panting, hissing mess.

He knew Louis was close when the boy held his breath, so he sucked the blood from his neck with fervor, shoving him over the edge and catching all the release he could on his hand. He wished he could bring it to his mouth and lick it all off, but it was best not to have anything except blood and water anywhere near a vampire’s stomach. They physically reject almost everything else instantly.

Instead though, he brought his hand to Louis’ mouth, silently ordering him to lick it off himself and groaning when he did without question. He even had the gaul to make eye contact as he did it, the vixen. “You are simply tantalizing,” Harry whispered, smirking as Louis diligently moved his tongue around to gather every single drop of his come. “That’s right, my sweet. Obey my every command,” he moaned, getting more and more entangled in his egotistical power trip.

Louis finished the job and tried hard to get his breath back, using a clean part of the rag to wipe his neck because he was surprisingly conscious enough to do so. “I’m not as out of it as I usually am,” he remarked in a hushed tone, judging how loud the other three’s voices were in the living room compared to his own.

“Your body is being trained to handle me,” Harry informed, making sure that every smear of blood was gone completely. They had to wait a few more minutes for the wounds to close before rejoining their company, but luckily Niall wouldn’t be able to see them at all. And they healed rapidly as a natural process, so killing a little time wasn’t all that serious.

“What do you mean by that exactly?” Louis asked, dreamily sighing when Harry snaked his arms around his back and kissed the spot just left of his cupid’s bow.

“I mean at first, my saliva is totally overpowering to you, and your body doesn’t know how to withstand its effects. That’s why you would lose consciousness for a while in the beginning. Being immune doesn’t mean that the pleasure lessens, it means that you have become familiar enough with it that it won’t override your system and knock you out,” he said intelligently, bringing his hands up to fix some of Louis’ wild hair.

“So I’ll just come a lot and be awake the whole time is what you’re saying,” Louis said with his full approval. He didn’t mind this at all.

“Yes, but the tolerance is quick to come and go. If you were to go a mere day without me, you would end up in the same condition as the first time I ever bit you. A human body will only stay resistant for around thirty six hours,” he noted, running his hands up and down Louis’ thighs and urging him off the counter.

Louis slid down dutifully and stumbled a bit on his feet before Harry quickly stabilized him. “That’s all pretty fascinating. Your whole world is fascinating,” he said, putting his shirt back on and letting himself be led back into the group even though he just wanted the vampire’s cock in him. They had all night though.

“I agree,” Harry said, only a few short moments left until they would cross the archway into the living room. “Because my whole world is you.”

Louis blushed and corralled the butterflies in his stomach to take a break, squinting into the much brighter living room and clearing his throat to alert Niall of his return.

“Did you two have fun?” the blonde asked knowingly with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

“Mmhm,” Louis replied flippantly, jumping back over the couch and sitting criss-cross-applesauce.

“What food did you get?” Niall pressed, leaning forward when Harry blocked the view of Louis by sitting down next to him.

“What?” Louis asked like he somehow hadn't initially heard that nerve-racking question. “I uh…realized I wasn’t hungry.”

“I was,” Harry said under his breath, the vampires in the room snickering into their wrists.

“Really, Louis? Then why is your shirt on backwards?” Niall hinted, ruffling his own shirt for emphasis and raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement of Harry’s answering snort.

Louis paled and his eyes shot down to his shirt, peeking down into his collar and finding the tag. _Shit._ He grumbled nonsensically as he snuck his arms back through the holes and roughly twisted the shirt around, shoving them both out simultaneously when the garment was facing the correct way and holding his ground among the highly unconvinced beings in the room.

Niall was smug as hell over Louis’ embarrassment, but he decided not to push it any further. Not for a few minutes anyway. “How about we play a game?” he suggested, looking around at all the faces to judge their level of interest.

“A game?” Zayn asked seductively, shifting around before his boner got too uncomfortable. The only game he knew how to play was cat and mouse, and he was damn good at it, but he doubted that's where this was going.

“Do you have any ideas?” Louis asked giddily, anxious to watch three old vampires try and play a normal human game like they had any idea what they were doing.

“Mmm…truth or dare,” Niall said viciously, the playful malice in his face darkening its features scarily.

 _Damn this kid,_ Louis thought in bemusement. _He’s had this planned from the start._

“Oh! I know this one!” Zayn exclaimed, puffing out his chest like someone might give him a cookie for his knowledge.

“What is it?” Harry asked in confusion, looking to Louis to explain the rules and objectives.

“You don’t _know_?” Niall asked incredulously, unable to fathom that someone existed in this world who hadn’t played the legendary game of truth or dare.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit sheltered,” Harry said with a shrug, checking to verify that he wasn’t alone in this. Good, Martin looked lost too.

Louis scoffed at Harry’s excuse but turned to face everyone, reciting the self-explanatory ins and outs of the game. “Truth or dare is a game with majorly devious intentions, but I think it well suits this particular group of creatures. Someone will go first, and they choose any one person they want to ask ‘truth or dare’ to. That chosen person may pick either one, but once the decision is made, you can’t go back or change your mind. If you choose truth, the person who picked you may ask you anything they want and you have to answer truthfully; if you pick dare, that person may dare you to do anything they want, and you can’t refuse. After it’s said and done, then it's your turn, and you pick anyone you want and ask the same question,” Louis informed helpfully, all parties up to speed on the rhyme and reason.

“Sounds incriminating,” Martin remarked with a nervous chuckle, scratching at his hair and grinning from ear to ear.

“Sounds dangerous,” Harry added with a smirk on his born-for-this facial expression.

“Sounds like a good fucking time,” Zayn finished, clapping his hands together and stretching his arms above his head as if that would somehow help in the long run.

“Alright! Who goes first?” Niall inquired, looking around the room to see if they had any instant takers.

“You do,” Louis scoffed, considering it obvious that whomever suggests the game should be the first to start.

“Ah, fuck. Okay. You, then. Truth or dare?” he asked, getting his revenge in the form of instant karma.

“You’ve got a weird look on your face, so I’m gonna go with truth,” Louis said carefully. The one who trusts Niall is the foolish one.

“That would be my weird look,” Niall said victoriously.

“Ah, shit.”

“Okay, Louis,” he addressed, pausing for unnecessary suspense. “What did you _really_ do in the kitchen when you went to ‘go get food’?” he asked, teeming to the brim with superiority.

Unanimous laughter broke out among their audience but Louis was squirming in his seat. What should he even say?

“Sorry, what was the question?” Harry asked behind his laughter. “I couldn’t hear you over the remnant echoes of _moaning in my ear_ ,” he teased, speaking the words directly into Louis’ ear for a demonstration.

“Just a bit of—” Louis paused to quickly drive a sharp elbow into Harry’s ribs, “—kissing, really.”

“In his _ear_?” Niall challenged relentlessly, feeling like the King of the world with Louis so powerlessly scandalized before him.

“Moving on!” Louis shouted guiltily, pointing a harsh finger at Harry’s giggling butler. That’ll shut him up. “Martin, truth or dare?”

“Hmm?” Martin said, fixing his posture and thinking about what he’d be willing to disclose. “Truth, I guess.”

The only other thing to ever match Louis’ evil smile in that moment was The Grinch himself. “What is the most embarrassing story of Harry you have?”

“Pft,” Harry spat, apparently confident that no such story existed.

“Yeah, I kinda gotta go with Harry on that one,” Martin noted, scratching at his chin in thought. “Harry doesn’t really let himself get into positions where he could be made a fool of. Although…there was this one time…”

“Don’t you dare,” Harry snapped, his eyes narrowing in a threatening manner.

“Sorry, Harry. I must answer truthfully, remember?” Martin chuckled, trying to recall every detail of the occurrence. “So we were in a tavern in France, I know that much. The year was—er, anyway…” he coughed, realizing that he couldn’t reveal what century it had been in the presence of Niall. The cute, French-speaking Niall who was _supposed_ to be his, but Zayn just had to come in and—

“Well?” Louis pressed, biting his lip as he smiled excitedly.

“Right. Harry had been valiantly wooing this thin, brown-haired hu—” another cough “— _boy_. And he very nearly succeeded in winning him over when this—”

“Please stop,” Harry quietly groaned to the ceiling, unable to even look at Martin’s lips as they moved to tell the shameful tale.          

“—this huge and voluptuous old woman, who just _happened_ to have a black cat in her arms, chucked the poor creature right into the back of Harry’s head. It instantly panicked and clawed its way all over him, making his hair look like he’d just survived a tornado and breaking down his composure like nothing’s been able to since. She then pointed at him with a blistery crooked finger and kept repeating ‘warlock’ and ‘demon’ at him in this shrill, horribly-toned screech, and demanding that he take his demon friend, that was me, and crawl back into the fiery depths from whence he came,” Martin cackled, all the details of that night flashing back into his mind as he recited the event. “Needless to say, he didn’t end up taking the boy back home that night. The boy had begun hyperventilating and most of the tavern’s customers were either laughing their asses off at Harry, or they yelling, growling, and shrieking at him to get out. It was most definitely the most humiliating situation I’ve ever seen him in, and he sulked for days,” he finished, leaning back and patting his stomach like he’d just finished a second serving of Thanksgiving dinner, indescribably satisfied with bringing the untouchable Harry down for a blip in eternity.

“ _Ughhh_ , why’d you have to word it so bluntly?” Harry groaned louder, desperate to ignore Louis’ bottled-up explosion of laughter.

“I’m very precise with my history, Harry. But in your defense, that cranky old woman definitely had more characteristics of an evil witch than you,” Martin said soothingly, fully aware that it only made Harry angrier.

“I still don’t know why she threw a cat at you,” Niall cried, still snorting his every breath through his nose as he lost himself in hysterics.

“Witch-hunting was big back then, especially after Loudun. The witches and warlocks were nearly wiped out,” Harry replied, his hooded eyes snapping open when the sentence left his stupid and thoughtless lips. Thankfully, they were saved—Niall is a bit of idiot anyway.

“ _Ha ha_ ,” the blonde drawled. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me…but just know that I’ll never forget that story,” he warned, wiping the tears from his eyes that had expelled themselves beyond his control.

“Neither will Louis,” Harry painfully agreed, sending a quick glare to his highly amused lover who was doing his best to appear neutral. Admirable if he wasn’t so skilless at it.

Louis dove in and planted a big kiss on Harry’s frowning lips, immediately lifting the vampire’s spirits even though he could tell Harry didn’t want them lifted. “Thank you, Martin,” he said as he pulled away, leaving his arms draped around Harry’s shoulders. “It’s your turn now.”

“I choose Niall,” Martin said before Louis had even finished his statement, bypassing Zayn’s responding glare and meeting the eyes of the beautiful human.

Niall pondered which route he wanted to take; everyone else had gone for truth, and he didn’t want to the dare section of the game to go ignored, so he bit the bullet and sacrificed himself to the game. “Dare.”

Martin had desperately counted on this. “I dare you to come here, tell me I’m beautiful in Français, and then give me a kiss on the cheek,” he said lightly, catching Zayn’s fiery gaze when Niall instantly accepted and hopped out of the Pakistani’s grasp.

Niall approached his fellow blonde and bent over to stare directly into his eyes with his faces mere inches away. “Tu es beau,” he murmured sincerely, erasing the distance between them and pressing his lips to Martin’s pillow-soft cheek.

Martin grinned and made damn sure to stare at Zayn for this part, swelling with pride when the vampire on the couch clenched his fists and lunged forward so menacingly that Harry had to reach over and punch him in the chest. He smiled at Niall and ushered him back to where he came from, all sidelined drama halting before the human turned around.

Zayn reached out and reeled him in when he was close enough, practically pulling him into his lap and smirking at Martin across the room. _Who’s got him now, you selfish asshole?_

“I pick Zayn,” Niall announced, so utterly oblivious of the high-strung eye battle that had just transpired between Zayn and Martin.

Zayn marinated in smugness as he debated his options. “Dare,” he stated, deciding to follow Niall’s lead.

Niall giggled and pointed across the room to the couch the butler was sat in. “I dare you to do the exact same thing to Martin.”

Zayn’s confidence cracked like a window that had just taken a rock to its pane, but he couldn’t falter in the slightest—not in front of his prey for romance. He nodded curtly and slid Niall off his lap, crossing the room and leaning down to Martin, mumbling the compliment halfheartedly and whispering into his ear instead of kissing him on the cheek. Nobody could tell the difference, anyway. “I’m gonna kill you,” he threatened icily, backing up with a sweet smile and bounding back to the more inhabited sofa.

Martin only chuckled.

“Louis,” Zayn addressed, the odd-eyed beauty perking up in recognition.

“Truth,” he said firmly—he wasn’t kissing anyone’s cheek but Harry’s, that’s for sure.

“Were you a virgin before Harry? If not, how does he compare?” Zayn inquired mischievously.

“Hardly an appropriate question, Zayn,” Harry scolded, crossing his arms in irritation.

“No, it’s okay, Harry,” Louis soothed, meeting the question with admirable courage, unwilling to let Zayn beat him out. “Yes, I was a virgin before Harry, so I can’t compare it to anything else…and I never will,” he added bashfully, meeting Harry’s reverent gaze.

“You’ve had _sex_?!” Niall squeaked, breaking the lovers’ intense eye contact and stealing both of their attention.

“Of course,” Louis replied, sinking back into Harry’s comforting arm while he had the back of his neck stroked with warm fingers.

“You haven’t?” Zayn asked to the flustered blonde, his interest in him growing impossibly stronger when Niall shyly shook his head. “Would you like me to change that?” he purred into his ear, sending a very obvious shiver down Niall’s spine.

“Enough talk of sex, please,” Harry whined, his stroking of Louis’ skin evolving into heavier scratching. “Any more and I’ll have no choice but to go have it immediately…I’m only human after all,” he added with a cheeky smirk into Louis’ eyes, silently communicating full-fledged sentences with his perfect and just as expressive lover.

“I choose you,” Louis said softly after several moments.

Harry scoffed at the declaration and knocked their foreheads together playfully. “Well I should bloody well hope so, we’re only soulma—”

“ _No_ , you idiot,” Louis chuckled, rubbing at his temple with his fingers. “For the _game_.”

“Oh,” Harry piped, turning his focus back on. “Dare.”

Louis was technically hoping for truth, but he didn’t spend too much time wondering what he wanted Harry to do for him. Something had been nagging on his mind, and he had to know. “Go get an acoustic guitar from the music room and sing me a song with it. A _serious_ one,” he specified, his giddiness bubbling out of him when Harry complied with a small upturn of his lips.

“If my love commands,” he said behind his back, disappearing down the left hall and through the music room door to suss out the perfect guitar for the song he already had in mind.

“Does he sing to you a lot?” Niall wondered aloud, absentmindedly playing with the rings on Zayn’s fingers.

“No, I’ve never heard his singing before,” Louis replied excitedly, his heart thumping like a gong in his chest. _He’s gonna sing to me._

“You mean this will be the very first time?” Niall squealed, honoured that he was able to stand witness to this new progression in their relationship.

“No time like the present, ay?” Louis said with a wink, whipping his head back around when Harry’s footsteps re-entered the room.

Martin sank into his seat and placed an elbow against the armrest while he leaned his temple against his fist, calmly looking forward to Harry allowing his artistry and sheer talent to shine. Only Martin knew just how much of a treat everyone was in for, but they would find out soon.

Harry smiled lovingly at his one and only, a tiny hint of nerves even coming into play, but that might be due to his being alive. He took a seat on the corner of the coffee table and balanced the ombre-coloured Gibson in earthy shades of brown on his thigh, taking the pick out of his teeth and positioning his fingers on the correct frets to begin the song.

Louis leaned forward as far as he could without falling off and gasped when the first few notes sung flawlessly from Harry’s delicate fingers, echoing around the room and giving the walls an ethereal hum. It was Greensleeves.

A song which Louis’ Mother used to sing him to sleep with—the song of his childhood. A song of haunting celtic perfection that has traveled across centuries of time, never losing its splendor once. Louis was amazed that Harry could recall when it was first popularized. The things he’s seen.

Louis lost all train of thought when Harry opened his mouth and began to sing, a deep and melodic, honey-like tone that never faltered in pitch, rolling up and down along the scales like the clouds on a breezy summer morning.

_Alas, my love, you do me wrong_

_To cast me off discourteously_

_And I have loved you oh so long_

_Delighting in your company_

Louis’ eyes welled with tears, hopeless at handling the way Harry’s eyes were making love to his soul with their penetrating glint. The sound of the guitar intertwining with Harry’s magical voice was sparking a multitude of chemical reactions in Louis’ everything, and he held a hand over his mouth while he happily watched Harry continue the ballad.

_Greensleeves was all my joy_

_Greensleeves was my delight_

_Greensleeves was my heart of gold_

_And who, but my laddy Greensleeves?_

Louis sobbed out a muffled laugh into his palm when Harry added one more letter to change the female ‘lady’ to a male ‘laddy,’ wholly dedicating the song to Louis and committing the stanzas into his stamp of existence forever. Louis would never forget this, and he held his breath when he realized that he never had forgotten it. Hadrian had first sung this to him during a rainy night in 1584, sixteen years before Alexander died. Before _he_ died.

_If you intend to be this way_

_It does the more enrapture me_

_And even so I still remain_

_A lover in captivity_

And after that first time, he would sing it at every chance he got; screaming it off tune to wake Alexander up at dusk, humming it while they dressed, singing it while they laid in each other’s arms after making love, nothing to feel but the warmth of their naked bodies tangled up together under a blanket of practically pointless condition.

_Greensleeves was all my joy_

_Greensleeves was my delight_

_Greensleeves was my heart of gold_

_And who, but my laddy… Greensleeves._

Harry elongated the last note and wrapped up the last few measures with the guitar, still watching Louis, who was determinedly staring right back, holding Harry’s heart in his mismatched eyes. In Alexander’s eyes. _Their_ eyes.

When the last note had been expertly strung, Harry bowed his head and leaned the acoustic Gibson against the unused loveseat to keep it out of harm’s way, and his tiny audience exploded in fierce approbation for his performance. He smiled humbly and regarded his sniffling Louis with slight concern, pushing the hair out of his face and taking him into his arms as he sat down. “Are you alright, love?”

“That was so beautiful, Harry,” Louis wailed like an air-raid siren, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck and squeezing him for all he was worth.

Harry chuckled and returned the embrace, thanking everyone for their applause while Louis sobbed into his neck. “I’m glad you liked it,” he said merrily, forcing Louis to pull back so he could look at his face.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Louis said quietly just for Harry, giving him a serious but overwhelmingly happy expression, so Harry didn’t worry one bit. He looked forward to that conversation.

“So…” Niall began to break the lengthy silence that had settled in after the commotion had died down. “What do we do now?”  

 

\---

 

Once they'd established the familiar comfort of each other credited to the short game, the night evolved into casual conversation. The laughs were many, and the smiles abundant, and Louis almost didn't want to break the group up, but once the clock struck midnight, he knew Niall would have to go or he'd be slapped by both of his parents.

Niall got up and stretched his arms to the ceiling, recoiling when Zayn’s arms snuck up and tickled his sides.  

“It was wonderful to meet you, Niall,” Martin said genuinely, moving to shake his hand, but Niall wouldn't stand for such a formal parting.

“It was _magnificent_ ,” Niall pressed, throwing his arms around Martin and stunning him speechless. He then turned and did the same to Harry, giving him an additional squeeze to show he approved of him for his best friend. “Louis, darling,” he then addressed giddily, rushing into his outstretched arms. “This was so amazing, thank you so much for inviting me,” he cried, picking Louis up for a moment before returning him to the ground.

Harry came up behind Louis and wrapped his arms around his chest, subtly trying to get rid of Niall’s scent and replace it with his own. Not that Niall didn't smell good, but it wasn't _Louis_ , and that was a problem.

“Of course, cat. You didn't think I'd let you keep moping forever, did you?” Louis asked knowingly, leaning his head back on Harry’s shoulder.

“Moping,” Niall scoffed, seeking everyone's faces to convey how ridiculous he thought that statement was. “I was _not_ moping.”

“Oh, sure you weren't,” Louis agreed sarcastically, grinning at the deadpan he got from his best friend.

“In any case, how do I get out of here?” Niall asked, gesturing his arms out in every direction.

“Where is his vehicle?” Harry asked, prepared to give a detailed description for any location they could have come from.

“It's up the hill to the left,” Louis said, pointing in the exact direction from where they stood.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Zayn suggested, giving him a little scratch on his shoulder with all five fingers.

“You would do that?” Niall asked in pleasant surprise, batting his lovesick eyelashes like Bambi. “That would be groovy.”

“Go get your stuff,” Zayn said with a smile, happily suffocating in his victory.

“Zayn,” Harry hissed as both Louis and Niall began chatting near the door, keeping the vampire back for a second so he could talk to him. “Don't bite him yet,” he said sternly, somewhat fearing what Zayn would do once he was out of their sight.

“Don’t worry,” Zayn replied seriously, checking to make sure the humans were still babbling before he explained himself to the Elder. “I play cat and mouse. I know how to wait, and I know how to grab opportune moments. I won't do anything to make him flee, this boy is mine,” he said, easily convincing Harry that he could be trusted.

“Understood,” Harry quipped with a nod, letting go of his friend's arm and permitting him to glide over to the blonde.

“Ready, darling?” Zayn asked sweetly, a gentle hand at the small of Niall's back.

“Yeah,” Niall said dreamily, fitting his arms into the straps of his backpack and bravely stepping further into Zayn’s side. “Bye, guys!” he called as they walked through the threshold into the cold night air.

“See you tomorrow,” Louis responded, waving them off before Harry came up behind him and slowly closed the door, snaking his arms around Louis’ front and running his hands up his shirt.

“I'll just…I’ll be cleaning the fifth floor,” Martin announced awkwardly, causing Harry to look over his shoulder and approach him.

“I _will_ find a way to get back at your for the tavern story. Just warning you,” he said deviously, pulling his butler in for a hug regardless.

“I deserve it,” Martin chuckled, stepping away and leaping all the way up to the second story. “I had a really great time tonight. Thank you,” he said simply but truthfully, promptly disappearing into the mansion to give his Master and Louis their well earned privacy.

“So…” Louis began when Martin was gone, stalking forward and running his index finger down the smirking vampire’s chest, copying Niall’s words in a sultry, “What do we do now?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of the first book, ah! When my health is restored, I will diligently write book two, I wanted to have been doing it this whole time, but I just can't. But don't worry, it'll come out. I hope the ending is an infuriating enough cliffhanger *laughs manically*


	13. Last Peaceful Weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here ya go. Just as it says: Louis' last peaceful weekend hahaha.  
> Spoiler: Harry and Louis get white girl wasted.

Louis woke up inside a cage of cold arms, cracking an eye open in the darkness and listening for any breathing behind him. He heard nothing of the sort, so he knew he’d been asleep for at least an hour.

Their furious lovemaking had knocked Louis out cold once they’d finished, but Harry had been right in his prediction—Louis had kept up pace without a single batch of dizziness. He had remained entirely aware and present throughout the whole experience, and Louis was damn proud of himself for not spacing out.

That didn’t prevent the enormous wave of exhaustion from rolling over him afterward, though. It seems as though he was asleep before his head hit the pillow, and he didn’t know why he'd woken up at this particular moment, but he had things to talk about.

“Harry?” he called over his shoulder, smiling when Harry lifted himself up and leaned over to make himself known.

“Yes, my love?” Harry asked quietly, pressing little distracting kisses on Louis’ neck while he stroked his defined hipbone.

“Uhh…” Louis trailed, arching his back and baring his neck for the vampire to make use of—he was very much distracted. “Drink from me first, warm yourself up a bit,” he suggested, a complimentary shiver following his words when Harry’s hand dipped to his inner thigh.

Harry said nothing and did what he was told, his long hair flipping over Louis’ face with the speed of his approach and tickling his nose. Louis moaned and pushed his arse into Harry’s pelvis, deciding he would stop Harry if he tried to take the lead on that because he couldn’t lose his prior train of thought.

He took a random handful of Harry’s curly hair and held it to his nose, inhaling the sweet scent that accompanied it despite being dead. He slid his pinch all the way down to the ends of the locks splayed out on his pillow and ran his palm over the smoothness, wishing that he had such a glorious mane to call his own.

It had become such a familiar sensation to have his blood drawn via fangs that Louis could now formulate complex thoughts and feelings throughout the duration. It hadn’t lost its pleasurable splendor, but Louis found it more calming and relaxing now than as wildly sexual as he firsthandedly had. It was only sexual if they made it so, and don’t judge him for hypocrisy; pressing his butt into Harry’s crotch was a natural reaction that anyone would do, and he will not be blamed for it.

He closed his eyes and a lazy smile melted his lips to its form, reaching up to hold his hand over Harry’s that was lightly gripping his shoulder to keep it away from his target area. “Enough, Harry,” he politely commanded, Harry detaching in a millisecond. Louis had begun to understand a multitude of things, and his impatience to address them was climbing to its breaking point.

“What did you want to talk about, love?” Harry asked sweetly after licking his lips clean, not the least bit offended or frustrated that Louis had cut him off. A blood-partner’s decision to give away their blood to or withhold it from their vampire was always their decision alone, and no immortal would ever challenge that unspoken right. If they did, they were scum, and did not deserve a committed human to begin with. Besides, one drop of Louis’ blood could make Harry’s heart race. He’d taken more than enough to satisfy his standards.

“Greensleeves,” was Louis’ blunt answer after several empty seconds of silence, taking Harry right back to the couch with his guitar from earlier tonight. Louis felt Harry’s smile tip his lips upward against his back, and his head raised, setting his chin down on Louis’ upper arm and being unfairly adorable.

“Did you remember?” the vampire murmured carefully and breathily, aware that Louis could be going somewhere else with the topic, but they were in sync enough now for Harry to know that it held a little bit more gravity.

“Yeah,” Louis responded, turning around in their cuddle to face Harry like he needed to. Harry allowed for the shift and settled back in once Louis was comfortable, pulling the candle on the side table closer so that Louis could better see him. Once Louis had put every limb into a position he could keep it in indefinitely without eventual pains, he continued. “You used to sing it to me.”

Harry’s brows raised but he kept the peace, sliding his right hand onto Louis’ face and tracing the structure of it in reverence. “Sing it to you…” he mused thoughtfully, stroking his thumb back and forth across Louis’ familiar cheekbone. “Are you…you really are Alexander, aren’t you?” he asked in wonderment, more to himself than the magnificent creature before him.

“I think I am,” Louis confirmed, an angrily curious expression on his little pouty face as he tried to simultaneously acquire all the missing pieces in his mind. “I think I was…used to be,” he theorized, checking Harry’s eyes for assistance.

Harry needed no convincing or proof at this point; the brown eye opposite Louis’ original blue boring into the vampire’s was speaking almost exclusively for itself. He touched their foreheads together and moved his hand into the back of Louis’ head, scraping it through his scalp and getting a feel for his fluffy hair. “How did you find me?” he asked emotionally, pulling back so he could watch Louis’ response.

“I don’t know, but I missed you,” Louis whimpered, once again covering Harry’s hand as he flicked his gaze between the vampire’s green eyes and red lips.

“I missed you too,” Harry choked, his confidence growing as Louis’ did, both of them one step closer to solving this impossible riddle of identity.

“I’m right here,” Alexander stated firmly and unmistakably, placing his hand on Harry’s face and increasing the pressure just a fraction to really let his Roman feel him. “I’m right here, Hadrian.”

“I know you are,” Harry breathed, connecting their slightly open lips in one brutal kiss, giving short pecks between his next words. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Louis giggled and blinked away his tears, kissing Harry’s neck and pushing him over so he could straddle him and hold the metaphorical talking stick. How proud Mrs. Barnes would be of his peaceful transition of power without the use of violence.

Another shift pulled Alexander to the forefront as he looked down at his captured prey, longing for the days when his fangs could pierce that scarred neck, wishing more than _anything_ that he could at least see the marks on Harry, that he _knows_ are there, like every other infantile vampire can. "I want to see these," he sighed wistfully, pinching the spot on Hadrian's neck just under his chin neck that Alex knew beyond shadow of a doubt was home to the deepest bite he'd ever made. "Your marks are mine. They belong to me, and for them to hide from me..." he trailed, his scowl putting even Hadrian on edge.

"You certainly deserve to," the Roman agreed quickly, his hands tracing the abundance of scars Alexander had carved into him over the centuries.

"Mmm...promise me you'll let me make more, my love. It's a torment to see a clean and untaken version of your neck. It's not even real. It's a sham," he growled, Harry shivering in response.

“You’re so fucking beautif—”

“Shh,” Louis and Alex hushed, holding a finger to their shared lips and smirking down at the most submissive Harry that had presented since 1598. “Change of topic before I lose my mind. I heard Greensleeves and our soul came alive for a short while. I might have remembered more in the moment, but once you were done, I was left with the mere highlights…yet I cannot forget them now. Once upon a time, one could not possibly separate that insufferable tune from your voicebox, not that I would have ever let you stop, even counting the times you got so very obnoxious with it. But all those starry nights with your humming in my ear, the inevitable first chords from any instrument you happened to pick up, the green in your eyes shining as bright as the sleeves when sung into mine. How could I have ever forgotten these treasures?” Alex whined, rejecting Harry’s coiling arms because he didn’t need to be coddled quite yet.

“I used to annoy you so much,” Harry reminded to lighten the mood, unable to stop his breezy laughter when he saw flashes of Alexander’s exasperated deadpans the moment he would sing the first word. Those flashes matched perfectly with the one he was receiving now.

“And to make it more peculiar, my Mother used to sing me that song every night as a child while my Father Troy would yell at the TV in the other room," Louis added, Harry's eyes sparkling as he was entertained by both of his most important creatures at once. "It was at times the only melody that could put me to sleep, and it haunted as well as calmed me for the whole span of my childhood. Now what do you make of that coincidence?” Louis asked the thoughtful Harry, finally letting the vampire’s hands travel to his hips.

“Simply put? I do not believe it is a coincidence,” Harry supposed, digging his nails into Louis’ hips without the instinctual use of his claws, further practicing his ability to keep himself in check with a fragile human at his mercy.

“Perhaps not,” Alex agreed this time, always in tandem with Harry’s ideas and theories no matter how far-fetched. They both knew that this world operated on perspective, and even when you think you know everything there is to know, something else will always sweep along and confound you. “You need to turn me, Harry. This is our second chance, and we need to take it,” he said passionately, Harry sitting up to press their chests together and peer into his eyes manically.

“What, right now?” he squeaked in shock, his thoughts warping into light speed at the prospect of sharing his immortal blood before the next sun would rise.

“No,” Louis laughed, shaking his head in bemusement when Harry crashed back down in a way that would seem like he was relieved to hear it, but really he was just overwhelmed from the sudden rush of panic. “No, not right now. You can ease the tension in your fangs,” he teased, leaning down to playfully nip at his neck, frustrated that absolutely nothing effective could be done with such dull canines.

“It’s weird having you as my human,” Harry noted in amusement, giggling as Louis uselessly nibbled on the skin of his neck with the power of a toothless frog.

“Well I’m still Louis,” he reasoned, apologetically wiping the spit off his vampire’s neck. Human spit had no redeeming qualities about it. “Alexander just… _is_ me. He’s a part of me, inside of me, connected to my existence. I don’t know how or why, but something brought me back to you, and I’m not letting anything get in the way of that again. Especially your good-for-nothing twin,” he growled, crashing their lips together and finally letting Harry take the reins and roll over on top of him, trapping his body underneath.

Harry had found the rapid back and forth of Louis and Alexander tonight to be wholeheartedly enjoyable, and he was over the moon that they seemed to be on the very doorstep of unlocking what those two's shared soul was trying to configure. “You will be mine for eternity, Louis...Alex...Louix?” he chuckled as he ate up the moans his human was making from having his cock rubbed just the right way, dropping nearly all of his upper weight down to be as close as possible while he looked for a fresh spot of skin to bite. “This time, it’s forever.”

 

\---

 

Louis felt like he was pulled out of his dream by a metal detector when he was a shiny penny, and dumped on the cold shore of consciousness. He flung his arms about and groaned heavily into the expected darkness, lifting himself up with his arms, only to come crashing back down uselessly when his muscles gave out. Defeated, and beaten, he lay there on his face like a caterpillar, sighing into the pillow with everything he had.

“I take it this means you’re awake?” Harry asked, smart enough to know he shouldn’t laugh like he wants to.

“Unfortunately.”

Even Harry had to strain his ears to decipher Louis’ poorly pronounced grumble of a response, but he cooed when he figured it out. “Just think of it as getting to spend more time with me before school,” he said coolly, truthfully skeptical that his words would have any effect at all, but he was delighted to discover they sort of did.

“I’m up!” Louis said as he snapped his face up out of the pillow, full of motivation to be with Harry. “Wait, it’s Saturday, I don’t have to go anywhere,” he sang with a relieved grin plastered on his lips.

“Oh, is it? When you’re immortal, you tend not to realize such things,” Harry murmured into his hair, giving long pets down Louis’ spine when he stretched it like a cat. “Although...I’m sorry to report I’m going to pass out soon regardless,” he added reluctantly.

“Shit,” Louis yawned, sliding his knees back down and bouncing his pelvis on the springy mattress. “Before you do, what did we talk about last night?” he asked, finally looking over and giving Harry his full attention.

“What?” Harry asked in obvious puzzlement, unable to believe that Louis had actually forgotten all of it, just like that. “You don’t remember?”

“Mmm...I remember our sex after Niall and Zayn left, and then I know I was really tired, so I fell asleep. I feel like I just slept until now, but something’s telling me we had a long conversation last night here in bed,” he mumbled groggily, not thinking anything of the impact it was having on the vampire beside him.

Harry debated what to say for a good minute; he didn’t want to broadcast his disappointment, but he also didn’t want to tell Louis anything he wasn’t ready to permanently internalize yet. This mind of his seemed too delicate to force information on, so he needed to keep things neutral until Louis was ready to know everything for good. “You told me you liked my performance,” he said carefully, only willing to go that far. Louis only stared blankly at Harry while he evidently tried to understand what that meant, and this only made Harry’s eyes wider with shock. _What’s going on?_ “When I sang Greensleeves?”

“Oh yeah!” Louis cried, his eyes lighting up like Christmas lights in recognition. “Harry, there’s something about that song,” he said thoughtfully, scrunching his eyebrows up in contemplation.

It was clear to Harry that whatever Louis was trying to find was right on the tip of his tongue, and the vampire mourned over the fact that he’d created a blockade from it. He sighed dejectedly and plopped his head down into Louis’ lap, silently wishing for his lover’s brain to be in one concise piece.

“There’s something really important about that song,” he repeated to himself, absentmindedly stroking Harry’s hair and remaining ignorant of his frustration.

“I’m glad you think so,” Harry said tonelessly, rolling off back onto his own side and jumping back and forth in his mind for anything else to say. He didn’t necessarily want to be so moody, but when you have an experience like last night, it’s crushingly hard to forget it and move on. One step forward, two leaps back.

“Can I take one of your compositions with me to school on Monday? I want to start working on my final, and I need another one of yours to do it,” Louis asked.

“Yeah, I don’t mind. What’s your final?” Harry asked, suppressing a huge yawn from erupting out of his mouth.

“A concise and flowing trilogy of songs that we need to mold together to create a sort of conjoined thingy. I hope that made sense. We can use whatever songs we want, but at least _one_ of them has to be our own composition. I’m doing the minimum requirement obviously, but I want to practice the unknown second one of yours in class,” he said in-between dressing his shivering skin.

“You’re a beautiful composer, Louis. You just don’t realize it,” Harry said earnestly, backing up when he realized it was Alex who had been the musician. “Or remember it…” he added in a mutter under his breath.

Louis acted like he didn’t hear, but he absolutely did. _I don’t remember it?_ he thought, wondering what Harry seemed to know that he didn’t. Obviously it pertained to Alexander, and Louis would very much like to tap into that skill of his for the upcoming final in a few short weeks. Maybe they could come to some sort of understanding, and the Macedonian would allow him to flourish musically while leaving his love life alone.

 _Good luck with that,_ a voice chuckled into his head, stopping Louis’ entire world for a brief moment.

“Lou?” Harry asked behind him, snaking his arm around his waist because he could smell the sudden tension.

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis said in a rush, standing abruptly and turning to sprint up the stairs so he could think.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Harry chided, appearing in front of him like he’d used a teleporter from Star Trek. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, swaying slightly on his exhausted feet, but still managing to firmly hold onto Louis’ face and prohibit him from wiggling free.

“Nothing, I just...it’s nothing, I love you,” Louis said, valiantly walking forward to hold the vampire in his arms. Harry didn’t need to know every crazy thing that went on in his head.

Harry released his grip and guided Louis into his chest with a soft hand on the back of his messy hair, upset with himself for sending Louis into a panic with his likely confusing words. “I mean, there’d be no proof that you didn’t write one of mine if you want to practice it here,” he said, trying to erase all the damage that had been done in that short amount of time.

“No, I’ll write it,” Louis said surely, taking a deep breath and letting it out on Harry’s bare chest, smirking when it made him wince with pleasure.

“Good...now come back to bed so I can warm myself up,” Harry said, backing up with Louis in his arms and toppling over onto the mattress.

“It would be my pleasure,” Louis said flirtatiously, a tired wave climbing up into his head after all. He bared his neck and Harry yawned, extending his fangs as it ended and digging them into Louis’ skin, both creatures moaning into the darkness as they had their short fun before the imminent chapter of sleep.

 

~~~

 

_“You’re up to something,” Alexander accused after cornering an unsuspecting Auron in his room as he was about to leave._

_“Oh?” Auron chuckled, gently setting down his pack to fully address the imminent interrogation. “What is it this time, Lexy?”_

_“Do away with your word games, if you don’t mind. I’m a little tired of listening to them. You’re fooling your brother, but you’re not fooling me. Your frequent disappearances are not without cause, where do you go?” he asked sternly, crossing his arms and using his elder age as a factor of intimidation._

_Auron was not intimidated. “We’ve all been together on and off for eight centuries. Don’t you think if I had devious intentions, they’d have risen by now?” he challenged, copying Alexander’s body language because he honestly thought of him as an equal._

_“Not necessarily. You pop in at weird times, and leave even more suspiciously, and I want to know what you’re doing,” Alexander said, happy that Hadrian was still asleep in their bed. He didn’t need to hear this conversation._

_Auron sighed as though he were being highly inconvenienced and treated the wary Alexander with innocent exasperation. “I’ve done nothing wrong to either of you, where do you birth these anxieties? I care for you, and my little brother.”_

_“It’s too simple,” Alexander argued, unable to stop the speech that followed. “Turn back the clock for a second. You took over Rome to get to Hadrian. It wasn’t your main interest, or you would have put up a fight when we asked you to step down. You did not. You walked away as if it were nothing. Hadrian was your objective, not Rome. Why? We’ve had a guarded relationship with you for eight centuries, and you always find a way to grow more mysterious. What the hell is your plan?” he demanded, his mismatched eyes narrowing in contempt. He’d come to hate Hadrian’s twin after they’d discovered he’d been killing humans when that had been a deal-breaker in the beginning, and Hadrian had done absolutely nothing about it. There was a part of his lover who just desperately wanted his only family to function, but he had become blind as Auron had put on a lovely show of regret when confronted about it. Alexander could see through it like glass, he just didn’t know everything at work here...there seemed to be a lot._

_“Why is it impossible for you to believe that living among you two has changed my ways?” Auron groaned, the intermittent emphasis of his words climbing up and rolling down his inflection like the curvatures of a mountain range._

_“Because you were killing humans when we told you not to!” Alexander countered, outstretching his arms incredulously._

_“That was in the 8Endless’s!” Auron passionately defended, the same amount of stressed emotion in his tone._

_“And you think I am under the impression that you don’t anymor—wait, you give the years that silly title too?” he asked offhandedly, not expecting to hear that dramatic phrase of time from anyone else besides Hadrian._

_“We are twins, after all,” Auron grumbled, itching to leave the manor, but he couldn’t avoid this conversation—it would only spark more suspicion._

_“It’s impossible for me to believe,” Alexander redirected, his fear for their safety and distrust of Auron bubbling over the surface of his calm, “because I know your type. You are grown from vengeance and resentment,” he spat, stalking forward and backing the nervous Auron into the wall behind him. “You’ve had far too long to plan, and making a move when everyone leasts expects it seems like just your style...and the more I see you, the more obvious your eyes of malice become.”_

_“That’s your proof?” Auron scoffed, regaining his composure when he realized Alexander had no stone cold evidence to support his claims. “My eyes? Apologies, but I’ll need more than that to take you seriously—” His sentence ended abruptly when Alexander lurched forward and threw him back into the wall, a sickening crunch echoing from the impact, but at least it was the structure, and not his bones._

_“You aren’t even denying it!” Alexander roared, rearing back to enact attack number two. He picked Auron up by his neck and held him against the wall, glaring at a pair of familiar green eyes that held nothing but hatred back for him. “If you hurt him, I will kill you. I will protect Hadrian with my entire monstrous existence, and unlike him, I don’t give second chances,” he snarled, dropping Auron from his grip and giving him some space. “I mean it—one wrong look in his direction, and I will—”_

_“Alex?” Hadrian piped from his groggy stance in the doorway, slowly blinking at the two and wondering what the hell he’d just walked in on._

_Alexander didn’t respond, his back to the surely expectant Hadrian as he bore his eyes into Auron and dared him to out himself, or do anything remotely stupid._

_“Ahh, Hayway,” Auron greeted cheerily, stepping around the fuming Alexander to take his twin in his arms._

_Alexander’s head whipped around to watch the interaction and his fists clenched when they embraced—just what was going through that twin’s mind?_

_“What’s...happening here?” Hadrian asked guardedly, flicking his gaze between the two parties who were doing terrible jobs at covering their tracks, or appearing natural and unburdened._

_“Nothing,” Alexander bit, taking a seat on the nearest chair when it became obvious no battle scene would occur here today._

_“Nice talk, Lexy. Always a pleasure to withstand the wrath of your monstrous existence. Hadrian,” he addressed as a goodbye, tipping his fancy feathered hat down and sweeping out of the room, filled pack in hand._

_“Where are you going?” Hadrian called after him, craning his neck while he kept his body in the room._

_“Out for a while. I’ll be back in a year or so,” he responded, rounding the corner and flying out of the house before either pesky lover could stop him._

_“Alright,” Hadrian muttered to the empty hallway, shaking his head and immediately finding Alexander with his questioning gaze. “What was that?” he asked pointedly, his demeanor shifting to an agitated parent’s at their child’s uncooperative squabbling. “If you even try to say ‘nothing’—”_

_“I don’t trust him,” Alexander blurted, his petulance reaching an all-time high, but it was also a valid reason for concern. Auron was a dangerous and unreadable, historically vicious asshole...how could he ever be trusted?_

_“You’re saying this now?” Harry exclaimed, running a tired hand down the side of his face and pulling up the nearest chair to sit across from his Alexander. “You were the one to encourage this in the first place,” he gently reminded, not allowing Alexander to get defensive about him placing blame._

_“I would like to think…” Alexander began, changing the course of his sentence because he didn’t know where to take that one. “... I’m starting to regret that decision. He’s up to something, and I know you can feel it. We need to leave before he comes back,” he said seriously, locking eyes with Hadrian and preparing himself for the heated conversation to follow._

_“He’d find us,” Hadrian said in lieu of every excuse he could spare on his brother. He seemed to understand that Auron wasn’t as enlightened as he’d previously believed, and this was amazing news for Alexander. However…_

_“Put his skills above mine one more time, Hadrian,” the Elder dared, his fangs dropping as he let out a warning hiss._

_“It’s nothing to do with skill,” Hadrian said quickly, backing up a hair so he wasn’t in immediate attack range. “This is about connections. Auron practically has a whole society of freshly turned vampires that worship the ground he walks on. I know he’s the maker of all of them, and yes, it feels like he’s breeding an army. All the more reason not to make any rash decisions. His reach is vast, and we don’t know where they all could be hiding. We might need to take him on ourselves...if he tries anything,” he stressed, a strong believer in ‘innocent until proven guilty.’ Ironically, something he learned from the currently counteractive Alexander._

_“Not if, Hadrian. When,” Alexander pressed, confused at how the term ‘breeding an army’ didn’t solicit enough cause to strike by itself. Nothing about that sounded pleasant, or that it was being done with good and wholesome intentions._

_“Could be,” Hadrian agreed helpfully, playing with his hair as he thought at the speed of a lightning bolt. “I’m not delusional, I know who he is…” he trailed, shaking the situation from his mind and standing from his seat, holding out an enticing hand to the ethereal Alexander. “Now, come. Let me take you to bed. I’m sure Auron would not make his antagonistic move during sex.”_

_Alexander scoffed but accepted the hand, walking in tandem with Hadrian as they swept down the hall and descended the stairs to the underground portion of their home. “Why not? It makes sense. You’ll never catch me more distracted,” he lilted, a seductive smirk playing with his lips._

_“How do you want it?” Hadrian purred into his ear, his arm sliding down Alexander’s back to find his hole, softly rubbing at the cloth that covered it._

_Alexander jumped a bit at the sudden contact, but did his best to keep walking. “Impartial,” he answered, looking forward to downing their vase of blood so he could keep up with Hadrian’s energized state of life._

_“Well since you’re being so fretful, I think I should take you under me,” Hadrian hummed, his wandering hand trying to go back to where it had been dislodged._

_Alexander swiftly slid to the side, evading Hadrian’s touch and huffing at his crass. “Well if you’re gonna be a snarky brat, I may take you under me,” he shot back, heavy emphasis on the words ‘you’ and ‘me.’_

_“We’re both stubborn,” Hadrian chuckled, admitting that they may be at a bit of a standstill._

_They reached their room and Alexander sighed into the comforting atmosphere, giving a rueful smile over his shoulder and shrugging out of his robes. “Whoever forces it first?”_

_Hadrian’s favourite game. A power-play between their strengths to see who could get their cock into the other’s hole first in a passionate display of grappling and wrestling. He smirked in anticipation and strutted to the corner of the candlelit room, lifting the brown vase and beckoning Alexander over to him with a crooking finger. “Come here.”_

 

\---

 

Louis woke up trembling as per usual, immediately getting some distance from Harry’s icy arms and regathering the nearest blanket for a protective barrier. He couldn’t remember the dream he’d just had, but he _knew_ it had something to do with Hadrian and Alexander. No use; the memory was gone. “God dammit,” he mumbled, stretching his muscles and stifling a yawn. He didn’t know what time it was, but he was pretty sure the sun was at its highest point in the sky, judging by his headache—he always got migraines if he slept in after noon.

He felt around for one of the many lighters that inhabited every corner in this basement, and his fingers touched on the metal rectangle that was just about the same temperature as Harry’s skin. He held it to the wicks of the candles and sparked it alive, squinting his eyes at the blinding candlelight—when you’re submerged in total darkness for extended periods of time, any change to that pigment is a painful one on the eyes.

This showcased the sleeping Harry curled up on his side, arms still reaching out where Louis had escaped them, and Louis couldn’t help the coo that tripped out of his mouth. He lit one more candle for optimum viewing and dropped the lighter with a noisy bang on the wooden shelf of the bookcase—Harry wouldn’t wake up.

All steps taken, Louis was now free to gaze at Harry as he slept, and he snuck his hand up into Harry’s hair, giving the soft strands a finger-comb. He’d had to get used to the sight of Harry in such a death-like stupor, but sometimes it still unnerved him to see. The lack of a rising chest and even breaths was something that logic couldn’t grapple with, and his mind still saw something wrong with the picture, even if he knew it was fine.

He sighed and let his fingertips graze down Harry’s cheek, chuckling when he received a single twitch of Harry’s lips at the intrusion. He went back to the silky smooth hair and tossed it around idly, pinching lock by lock at a time and angling them elsewhere, completely destroying the order and perfection that was Harry’s mane.

Harry grunted and shifted around, his back arching and neck baring as he settled into a more comfortable position on his back. It would have been a normal and innocent process for Louis to witness, but what stumped him was his own reaction.

As he stared at the curvature of Harry’s neck, his mouth began to water, and all at once he felt an indescribable tingling in his upper gums. He flew his hand up to his teeth and prodded at the gradually numbing area, half expecting fangs to appear and drop from his incisors, but the back of his mind was positive that he was still human. Too stunned to react, he continued to stare at Harry’s neck where the feelings had sprung from, and the urge would not subside.

He had an unmistakable desire to connect his mouth to that skin and bite it for all he was worth. He blinked his wide eyes and tore them from the culprit patch of flesh, and in an instant, the desire to claim it dissipated. “Is this you?” he asked Alexander, taking a dangerous glance at Harry and loosening the tension in his shoulders when he was finally free to look without experiencing foreign and inhuman impulses.

He still wasn’t quite comfortable with himself though, so he leaned forward carefully and let his lips brush Harry’s, quickly pushing off the bed to dress himself and get away from the odd temptation. The sizzling in his gums had lessened significantly, but there remained a small residual weirdness, and he didn’t appreciate it very much.

He yanked his legs into a random pair of expensive pyjama pants and snatched a thick robe from the wanton pile of fabric by the bed, shoving his arms through the armholes and bunching it up with a fist at the bottom so he could walk without tripping. He blew one candle out and took the other in his hand, narrowing his eyes at Harry before fully retreating and leaving him behind.

 _I’m not a vampire,_ he thought to himself, almost feeling like he was actively trying to convince the statement to be true. But it was true. So why wasn’t it actually that simple?

Sighing, he pushed through the trapdoor and blew the candle out with a swift exhale. He was beyond done with all the inconsistencies his inner self displayed. Who even was he? Louis or Alexander? The human who had grown up in Fortwright with a Father named Troy and a Mother named Stacey? Or the undead immortal, Alexander the Great, who had grown up in ancient Macedon and ruled over a vast majority of the Babylonian and Persian territories, plus Egypt?

Supposing he is both, how could he _possibly_ be both? Every theory was a stark dead end, and Louis was ready to tear his hair out scream into the void. Instead, he decided he would get some homework done. All these otherworldly issues aside, surely he didn’t want the lack of a diploma to add itself to the list, right?  

He stomped down the stairs without fear of waking the two comatose inhabitants, and dragged his backpack over from its designated spot (in a heap by the front door). He fell into the couch and thwacked his math textbook down on the expensive coffee table before him, using the assignment he’d turned into a bookmark to open its heavy pages. Met with a bunch of numeric problems, he allowed himself to be distracted from his real life ones to solve the arithmetics that were smugly glaring at him.

He was okay at math, if he could claim such a decent title. He’d had to retake Algebra twice for the first two years of high school, saying fuck it entirely for junior year, and was currently battling with Geometry. He wasn’t a fan. Mainly, it was the ‘proofs’ that he needed to write out. It wasn’t enough to simply solve a problem with this subject, no, you had to describe in detail how you did it, and that was harder than it sounded. If even one thing was off, sometimes you’d get a red slash through the whole problem.

Nevertheless, he muscled his way through the worksheet, passing over the difficult ones to come back to when he had more motivation to deal with them. It had been going quite well, but the unnatural silence was beginning to poke holes in his temper. Being so deep in the forest, the mansion offered no evidence that there was a world beyond the doors. Louis couldn’t even hear the chirping of birds or the thrum of an airplane soaring above the clouds. He realized he was clenching his pencil harder than it could handle, and he let it drop into the canyon at the center of his textbook before he actually broke it in half.

His eyes aimlessly drifted to the corner of the room to yet another gaudy lamp—one of many that were commonplace within the regal theme of the estate—but what he found sitting innocently behind it stunted his breath. It was a record player. An honest to god record player. Louis couldn’t believe he’d never noticed it before; though it certainly had a few cobwebs encroaching on its privacy, it really wasn’t all that hidden. All you had to do was look—apparently he’d never looked.

He pushed off his knees to stand and crossed the creaky floorboards, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the lamp and get a closer look. His suspicions of quality had been correct; this was a Marantz 6370Q Turntable. Louis was almost bubbling with rage over such a beauty going unplayed and rotting in a corner, and he shoved the side table aside with impressive strength, carefully scooting the record player’s stand forward leg by leg until it was between the fireplace and the loveseat Niall had kissed Martin on.

It was then that he noticed the small selection of records leaning against the wall behind where he’d just blocked the way. This was the furthest he could get the player’s cord away from the outlet without ripping it out, but he really didn’t want to maneuver the stand to and fro for ten minutes. Unperturbed, he hopped up onto the love seat’s arm rest and launched himself down into the tight corner. He spent no time congratulating himself on the ninja move and slid his back down the wall while he bent his knees, determined to retrieve the records in the confined space.

Once his alligator hand and finally clamped down on the dusty squares harboring concealed, circular gold, he tested his might again and dove back over the loveseat, tumbling off the edge and breaking his fall on the elaborate carpets with his skinned knees. He smiled through the pain with an emotion that words could only translate to: “What else is new?”, and rose to his feet, cradling the stack of records in his elbow as he beheld the selection.

Marvin Gaye, Led Zeppelin, The Who, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Stooges, David Bowie, more David Bowie. “Nope, I choose you,” he said to the cover of _The_ _Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the_ _Spiders from Mars_. God, that title was a damn mouthful. He plucked the pristine album from the pile and set the rest down on the coffee table, upending the cover slit to ease the record out, treating the vinyl as though it were a sacred object—to Louis, it was.

He then hovered it over the spindle and urged it down onto the platter, flicking the power dial on and guiding the arm to the edge of the record, letting the needle drop like everything would shatter if he was too careless. David Bowie was important, okay? He didn’t bother adjusting the volume, knowing it was set rather loudly, and backed up as the needle picked up on the simple snare beat that preluded _Five Years_.

The first greeting of the piano swept him off his feet as always, and he swayed back and forth, listening to David as he told him that he heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies; that he saw boys, toys, electric irons and T.V.’s.

_My brain hurt like a warehouse,_

_It had no room to spare,_

_I had to cram so many things,_

_To store everything in there._

Louis sat down onto the rug and splayed out on his back, allowing himself to rethink that phrase and let the continuing verses run away from him. Those lines got to him in particular, because they were so damn relatable. He doesn’t think David knows just how applicable it is to Louis. Surely people’s heads are full of bullshit sometimes, but can any of them truly relate to the severity in Louis’?

It was a stretch to assume anyone else on the planet was dealing with an identity crisis such as this. His eyes squinted and the high ceiling’s curved beams became a dark brown blur, closing them completely to watch the backs of his eyelids—you can’t say you aren’t shown interesting shapes sometimes.

 _Five Years_ tapered off into _Soul Love_ , and Louis began to hum along, still lying on his back atop the scratchy rug and procrastinating on his schoolwork. What did the assignment care, though? Louis could do it, or not do it; the page would never notice. _But Mr. Lokteff would_ , he grumbled to his thoughts, heaving up into a sitting position and scooting his butt over to the tabletop, all the while singing that all he has is his love of love.

His happy mood was enough to conquer the inch-thick sheets of homework he had to do, and when he slammed all his books shut, he realized that the album he’d had to flip had ended sometime during his impenetrable work zone, the record player crackling in protest at having nothing left to read. He quickly took it off its spindle and slid it back into the cover, turning the machine off and easing the stand back into its original corner, deciding to forgo pushing the side table back where it had been—nothing should ever block a Marantz 6370Q Turntable.

The ideas of what he could do now were slimmer than his underfed waist, so he figured a little breakfast might do him some good. He walked on the balls of his feet to the kitchen, en route to the cabinets. The options he had were gracious enough, considering he lived with two vampires that hadn’t eaten a bite of real food in centuries, but still barren to his standards—though he doesn’t have many standards to begin with. He settled for a dented box of Chex Mix and poked around for a bowl to pour some into. Having found said bowl and filled it to the brim with the salty snacks, he dropped the “meal” onto the kitchen table and returned to the next upward level of cabinets to fetch a glass.

He stretched his spine out as far it would go, petulant that he still couldn’t reach it despite his best efforts. He clambered up onto the countertop and grabbed the drinking glass in annoyance, sliding back off and slamming the cabinet door harder than he maybe should have. He knew the apple juice that Martin had bought was now kept in the fridge because its contents didn’t need to be a secret from him anymore, but that still didn’t mean he was happy to open the appliance and behold the dark maroon colour pallet that sat grossly in its countless plastic hospital bags.

Regardless, he had an empty glass, and a dry mouth, so he slowly opened the door and tried to hone in on the apple juice alone before he would be distracted by the bags first. They were everywhere, though, and very hard to miss. He was alas forced to look at them as he surveyed the shelves for the juice, and that’s when yet another weird temptation came over him. It sounds ridiculous, even to him, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that those bags actually looked pretty satisfying.

The longer he stared, the more he began to realize that he knew what it would taste like. He could taste it on his tongue, feel its immediate, euphoric effects. He knew he was already alive, but he suddenly remembered what it felt like to be dead—he’s felt it before. Grunting in discomfort and disgust, he yanked the _Mott's Natural Style_ out and shut the door, shaking off his strange epiphany-type recollection, and almost pouring the liquid right over the edge of the glass. He let out a cry of frustration as he twisted the bottle away, moments before it would have spilled out all over the table.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he commanded, dropping the bottle down with an intensity that it didn’t deserve, and shoveling Chex Mix into his mouth as he waged war within himself.

It didn’t take long for his expectant fingers to hit the bottom of an empty bowl, and he sighed as he finished off his beverage, setting both dishes into the sink and practically chucking the juice bottle back into the fridge like he was pitching for the Caldwell Cubs.

The phone against the wall grabbed his weary gaze, and he debated calling Niall to gossip over last night’s festivities, but he decided that he wanted to see the blonde’s face when he gave his report. It was going to be a priceless conversation, one not meant for the telephone. However, he did think he should call his Mother, so he floated over on the slippery linoleum and picked up the receiver, hassling with the rotary until his old home’s dial tone was ringing in his ear.

“Hello?” his Mother asked timidly, apparently not expecting a phone call in the middle of the day.

“Hey, Mom, it’s me,” Louis greeted cheerfully, expecting a warm welcome in return.

“Who the fuck is that!” he heard his Dad yell on the other end from somewhere in the living room—only place they had a phone.

“Uh...it’s no one, dear,” Stacey replied, the sound of it muffled as though she’d tried to cover the mouthpiece.

“Mom?” Louis called again, a bad feeling brewing in his gut over his Father’s tone of voice. Drunk, no doubt, but this didn’t compute with the information he’d received from her at school. From his understanding, Louis’ departure had paved over the road of violence.

“No, we don’t want any car radios,” Stacey said, again sending Louis into a whirlwind of concern.

“Mom, I thought—”

“Hang up the fucking phone, bitch! Do you pay the bills? I don’t fucking think so, get over here!” Troy snapped, loud enough that Louis could tell he was getting closer.

“Shit, Mom!” he called, answered by the conclusive click of a hangup. “God dammit!” he growled, slamming the phone back onto the wall and beating his wrists into his forehead. _Fuck. Nothing’s changed. He’s still the same as ever. I have to do something._ But what could he do? Marching there, even if he did make it all the way to his old house on foot, wouldn’t accomplish anything but raising Troy’s anger levels by 500%.

He could call the police...but they wouldn’t do anything either. Domestic calls are never fucking dealt with—he should know, he’s made plenty. And that would in turn, only make Troy volatile as soon as he politely closed the door on the retreating, happy-go-lucky police officers.

This gnawing feeling of uselessness was grating on his conscience; how could doing nothing be just as bad as actively doing something? How could _both_ actions have terrible consequences? What kind of fucked up world is this? He slid his back down the wall and pulled his knees into his chest, making himself as small as possible to match the inferiority he’s felt in every grand scheme he’s been ever challenged with.

He couldn’t do one single fucking thing to help anybody, especially himself. He couldn’t find out what he wanted to do with his life, he couldn’t successfully fight back to bullies at school, he couldn’t help or save his poor Mother from abuse, and he couldn’t crack the code on who he even is! What good does he do in the world? None.

He abruptly stood and strode out of the kitchen, marching up to the turntable and lifting the needle off the vinyl to interrupt _It Ain't Easy_  and plunge the room into silence. He then made a one-way trip to the music room because it was the only way he knew how to cope—he had a natural talent, sure, but that wasn’t the reason he loved the instrument so much. He loved it because when his fingers hit those domino keys, nothing outside of a two-metre radius existed. He could pour his emotions out into harsh chords and scales, and make something beautiful out of the ugliness in his heart.

Now hopefully Alexander stays the fuck out of this session.

 

\---

 

“That was beautiful,” Louis heard in his ear as strong arms wrapped around him.

Any other situation, and he probably would have flipped out and jumped over the piano in startled fear. But this was Harry. And something instinctive in his soul knew it could remain vulnerable around him, and nothing would ever go wrong. “I can’t believe you’re already awake,” he mused, reaching his arms up to return the embrace backwards.

“On the contrary, I’m willing to bet you haven’t noticed how long you’ve been in here. Doing that magical thing that you do,” Harry added in a whisper, his soft lips paving a way from Louis’ hair to his neck.

“Okay, magical is a bit strong of a—” The sentence died on his tongue when Harry’s fangs sank into his skin, sending that euphoric rush of pleasure straight to his brain and slowly seep its way down to cover every inch of his body.

Louis’ cut-off sentence tapered into a long, gravelly moan that Harry could feel reverberate against his embedded teeth, and he moaned in kind, one hand traveling up to Louis’ throat so he could hold it in place, and the other gently massaging his shoulder. Once he’d taken enough for life to enlighten him, he pulled off and let Louis ride out his naturally-chemically-induced high.  

Louis was floating and subconsciously rubbing at his erection in the front of his pyjama pants. Frustratingly enough, Harry’s hand slid down the length of his arm and captured his wrist, keeping it immobile enough to deter him from his goal. “What are you doing?” he slurred, his bleary eyes focusing as much as they could currently muster on Harry’s amused face.

“Not yet, love,” the vampire murmured mysteriously, urging Louis off the piano stool and holding back his laughter at the indignance of his expression.

“Why not?” Louis whined, his cock screaming at him for his cruel negligence.

“I want you wound up so tight that you unravel under my touch tonight,” Harry silkily purred, pulling Louis into his arms and taking two handfuls of his fantastic arse.

“Well when you put it like that…” Louis grumbled against Harry’s warm and thumping chest, reluctant to go along with his merciless teasing, but having enough sense to understand better things awaited him if he was patient.

“Come, I have a surprise for you, but we need to kill some time,” Harry said, taking Louis’ hand and leading him out of the room.

Louis obeyed, though it wasn’t a conscious effort—anything Harry wanted to show him, Louis would behold without a fuss. He was more than willing to follow Harry off the edge of a cliff; the cool thing was he knew Harry cared about him too much to put him in that kind of danger, so he wouldn’t ever have to. But he’s not kidding...he really would.

Harry took them out of the music room and down the hall to the front doors. Louis heard a bit of clanging coming from the kitchen—by default, Martin—but before he could ask, Harry had gotten him outside and shut the doors quickly behind, directing his attention to the biggest moon he’d ever seen in his life.

“Whoa, what is _that_?” Louis breathed, taking in the wonder of the yellow ball of cheese in the sky that he could nearly reach out and touch.

“That. Is a space rock,” Harry stated intelligently, looking damn proud of himself for his deduction.

“You’re incredible,” Louis scoffed, skipping out onto the grass and viewing the gardens with staggering pigment for this dark hour of night.

“It’s called a ‘supermoon’ as I understand. Hey, have you ever been around the back?” Harry asked, pointing a vague finger toward the mansion.

“The back? No, I’ve only been out here and inside,” Louis said, the twinge of excitement barely hidden from his tone. Exploring was his _shit_.

“You’re in for a treat, then. Take my hand,” Harry said smugly, grabbing Louis’ forearm when he was too slow to react and ushering them around the side of the estate.

It took a rather long time to actually cross around to the backyard, but once they did, Louis gasped like an asthma attack had just taken ahold of his lungs. The previously unseen back area was what you would expect any aristocratic mansion in New York to look like. Disregarding the myriad of flowerbeds and shrubbery for a moment, and what looked like a hedge maze in the distance, the water fountain was what really grabbed his gandering.

It was large and unnecessary, but he couldn’t picture anything else taking up the space. Admittedly, it was fairly dark outside, but he would have time to study it more extensively in the morning. It was surrounded by a walkway of gravel that crunched under their feet as they approached, and a wide bench wrapped around the whole thing that you could sit on without fear of getting splashed. It had three levels with little stone angels and cherubs sounding trumpets on each one, leaning over the edge with their little wings splayed out from their backs.

Louis had half a mind to toss a penny into the fountain, but he quickly realized this probably wasn’t the structure for that type of societal habit. Instead, he sat down on the bench, facing away from the mansion to overlook the beauty of the backyard—that he could see. It was then that he noticed the monstrously tall cement walls that outlined this entire section of Harry’s property.

“Okay, how the hell have I missed _that_?” he said, pointing to the wall and making a swipe of his arm to refer to every side of the wall.

“Ah, I hadn’t known you didn’t ever see it,” Harry admitted with a snicker, sobering up when Louis’ face got haughty. “But it makes sense! There are no roads that way...not for a good long while, anyway. So obviously this has meant you’ve never come from the back. The only entrance from the streets is that little dirt road that leads to my gate, and the street curb you found is just a shortcut through the woods themselves. Plus, I had Martin plant a lot of trees on the outside of these walls, but it really wasn’t needed. Nobody ventures this deep into the forest. Especially when they know this house in somewhere inside of it. Except you, of course,” he added, snaking his arm around Louis’ hips and pressing their cheeks together as he subtly inhaled his scent.

“So I was just never looking?” Louis asked, still unconvinced he could be that blind.

“It’s not unreasonable to think when you walk to the mansion from the street up the hill, you’re watching your feet take you here, or making quick glances at the mansion itself. Not peeking through branches of the trees near the back in search of a wall you never knew existed,” Harry said wisely, enraging Louis but answering his question nevertheless.

“I’ll be sure to peek next time,” he grumbled, sighing into the cool but bearable night air and giving notice to the buds of his impatience blossoming in his stomach. “Can we go into that maze?” he suddenly asked, bouncing his butt on the ledge of the fountain and tugging on Harry’s sleeve as though he were a child asking his Mother for an item in the window of a toy shop.

“But what if we get lost?” Harry asked, feigning genuine concern, but it only made Louis more demanding.

“Come _onnn_ ,” he whined, succeeding in pulling Harry to his feet—which he wouldn’t have been able to do if Harry hadn’t let him—and marching off to the tall hedges. “Wait…” he said, putting a hand directly onto Harry’s chest and halting his movement.

“Yes?” Harry asked, a mischievous glint in his eye from Louis’ contagious impish thought processes.

“I wonder how fast you can track me in there,” he wondered aloud, the thought sounding obvious even to him.

“Instantly,” was Harry’s immediate response.

 _Typical_. “Well I wanna see. You let me wander around in there for five minutes, and we’ll see how fast you can find me. Don’t use your vampire speed, either, that’s cheating. I want you to walk with human speed. And then capture me,” he said seductively, finger-walking his hand up to Harry’s lips. “Don’t say a word. Start counting.”

And with that, he was off. He didn’t bother to glance behind him, for once wanting to get as much distance between them as possible. He turned off his critical thinking and let himself get hopelessly confused, barely finding the time to count the minutes to himself as he twisted and turned through the mess of thick hedges. He was starting to get a little winded when he heard him; a warning of: “Prepare yourself!” that actually sounded decently far away, and Louis was impressed he’d created such a gap between them.

He froze in his spot and looked around for any kind of shelter or better hiding places to make use of, but his only surroundings were the overkill of greenery that was several heads taller than him. He felt too exposed where he stood, but he had to admit he’d gotten pretty far. And don’t worry, he’d begun to count in his head the second he’d heard Harry’s voice.

He waited around, still counting, and he made it to thirty-two seconds when Harry soundlessly snuck up behind him and pinched his sides. “Ah, shit!” he cursed, flying high in the air and tripping over his feet when he came back down, Harry barely getting his arms under him in time to save his fall.

“I’m sorry,” Harry chuckled for scaring him, holding him a little ways off the ground, prepped to heave him back up, but Louis had other plans.

In a crime of passion, Louis’ left foot struck out to kick Harry’s right one out of the way, and the vampire was momentarily caught off guard, giving Louis enough time to yank them down on the ground with intent. They landed in equal thuds with a shared “oomf,” and Louis couldn’t be happier, giggling like a child and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck.

“What was that for?” the vampire laughed, raising up just enough to peer down into the unpredictable Louis’ mismatched eyes.

“Well you’re always ready for everything. I wanted to change that, even if only for a short moment,” Louis explained, the heat between their bodies definitely not going unnoticed.

Harry seemed to notice it too, but he kept his face casual, pretending to disapprove of Louis’ rash testaments, but he was more pleased than anything. “Louis, with you, I don’t think I’m ever ready,” he finally admitted, his eyes traveling to the blush that appeared on Louis’ cheeks.

“What about now?” Louis whispered, his neck lifting his head up to get rid of all the space between their lips.

Harry smiled with a full display of his fangs, dipping his head down and meeting Louis’ silent request. They kissed for a while lying in the dirt of all places, Harry occasionally biting his lip and drinking from him as they did it.

Louis was a mess of endorphins and hormones, but something had been weighing on his mind, and he needed to talk about it. Breaking the partly bloody kiss, he let his head drop down and Harry got the picture, backing off him and helping him up onto his feet.

“I can almost see three little dots above your head,” the vampire remarked, lightly patting all the dirt off the back of Louis’ clothes. _His_ clothes to be specific.

Louis grinned sheepishly, offhandedly impressed that the immortal had any small measure of knowledge pertaining to comics whatsoever, and tugged Harry’s robe tighter around his shirtless body, hooking an arm in around Harry’s elbow and letting him guide the way back like a gentleman. “You were thirty-two seconds, by the way,” he mentioned first, a look of pure uninterest crossing Harry’s features.

“Am I supposed to be impressed with myself? I could have teleported to that scent,” he scoffed, leaning in and inhaling his neck for illustration.

“It was still pretty fast for a human speed,” Louis pressed, knowing he’d never be able to do anything of the sort.

“My senses are really strong, Louis. You basically left a trail of breadcrumbs, but instead of crumbs, it was entire loaves. I swear it’s almost a visible trail, every turn was laughably obvious. You can’t imagine...I see and hear and smell _everything_ around us.”

Harry’s voice had taken on a more passionate tone than it usually does when he’s referring to life as an immortal. Most of the time he’s grumbling about the downsides, but Louis supposed maybe no matter how long you’ve lived, some of the perks are still amazing. “Tell me more,” he urged, wanting to keep that awed expression on Harry’s face for as long as he could.

“Well you know so much already, but...I don’t know how I could ever describe it. I still remember what you currently experience as a human, even after all this time, and this life is…it couldn’t be more different from that muddled perspective. I can see every feature and characteristic that lies within anything you could present in staggering detail, and I can do it from far distances. That hedge may as well be this one,” he said, pointing first to one on the other end of their path, and then at the one right next to them. “Even gusts of wind have a shape in the air. Everything in the night is as clear as day, in more vivid clarity than you can see in the sun,” he said, his eyes darting around their surroundings as he focused on every little thing to prove his point to himself.

“What else?” Louis asked, enraptured at the powers that Harry’s turning had manifested.

“I can hear everything too. The critters and creatures digging through the dirt beneath us. The sound of cars on the roads outside the forest. Your breath...the flow of your blood,” he said, his attention honing in on Louis, and Louis alone.

“You can hear my blood?” Louis asked, suddenly self-conscious about how it sounded. “That must get really annoying…”

“No, Louis, no,” Harry hushed, pulling Louis into his chest and gazing down at him as he listened to the rush in Louis’ veins. “It’s like ocean waves, my darling. When I lie beside you in your embrace, I can imagine I’m on a warm beach. Your blood is the sound of the waves, the blue in your eye is the water, and your warmth is like the sunshine beating down on my skin.”

Louis was speechless. He also mentally noted how Harry had said ‘eye,’ and not ‘eyes,’ again reminding him that the discolouration was in fact a thing. “I…”

“Your every breath is music to me. Your laughter has a depth and a radiance that you would never notice like I can. When your heart races at my touch...with my kiss…with my sex...” he trailed, his lips parting in desire as the very heart rate he’d been describing occurred as a direct result of his words. “And your scent,” he added, steering himself back on track. “Your scent is like the bow on the present. It’s louder than any sound you could ever emit. It’s a siren in my sinuses. Deafening. It pulls me in, holds me hostage, threatens to destroy my control, makes me want to…”

“Want to what?” Louis asked breathlessly, pressing himself into Harry’s chest and gripping his arms.

“... Nevermind,” Harry said abruptly, stepping back and crossing his arms as a lackluster guard against the human.

“What? No, come back,” Louis said firmly, holding strong to the moment they’d shared and refusing to see it fade. “Tell me.”

Harry regarded with Louis with a look of either contemplation, suspicion, or disappointment, and Louis didn’t know which. He opened his mouth to reiterate his demand, but Harry must have made his choice to let him into his mind...albeit cryptically.

“Louis, I don’t know if you already know or not...I don’t really talk about it because I’ve been around for so long, I’ve long since learned to control the impulse, but…”

Louis huffed. “Would you just—”

“Aside from drinking blood for the high, and the life it holds within it, humans cause a much stronger temptation in us than _just_ that. When faced with a beautiful human like you, with blood as amazing as yours...a human that we love as much as I love you...the urge to turn them is almost overpowering,” he confessed shakily, putting even more distance between them. He hadn’t ever outright admitted this before, but now that he had, the desperation was just made a thousand times harder to ignore—this admission was a broken dam he couldn’t repair. “The need to drain half of you and feed myself back to you...it’s killing me to resist.”

“You want to turn me?” Louis asked shyly, some part of his soul jumping for joy, but he would set it aside for now.

Harry looked at him like he was insane, or at least incredibly stupid for asking such a question. “All the time. Who wouldn’t want an eternity with you? You have no idea how hard it was for me...that night...when you asked to see my blood. I wanted to force your mouth to my arm and make you drink it. I wanted to turn you so bad. Every time my fangs pierce you, the want to keep going is so strong, I’m amazed I’ve held off this long,” he said, aware that he could be scaring Louis away, but he couldn’t lie anymore. It was inevitably going to come up at some point.

“I–I want you to,” Louis stuttered, walking forward with a courage he didn’t know he had to take Harry’s face in his hands. The vampire only stared, so he gathered up some extra words to fill the silence. “I think turning me holds a key to unlocking Alexander. I don’t know what will happen, but if it means I get to be with you forever, well...what wouldn’t I want about that?”

“It’s not that simple,” Harry chuckled humorlessly, removing Louis’ hands from his face but keeping his own hands wrapped around them as they hung down between their bodies. “There are downsides to this existence...awakening you would mean you would become a slave to blood, to feel that fleeting state of being of which you take _so very much_ for granted,” he stressed, a severe gleam in his eyes as he drove the point home. “This doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it anyway. If you told me I couldn’t, I’d probably just laugh in your face... I wouldn’t actually ever make you if you didn’t want it...but I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. This is a warning. I need you to know what you’re deciding for yourself, please understand that life is a lot to give up. More than you’d think.”

“You told me that you feel alive when you’re with me,” Louis pointed out, using Harry’s words of love against him for personal gain. Score one for Louis. “I can tell you right now that I would feel the same about you.”

Harry laughed like he’d been expecting that answer and grinned, throwing his arm around Louis and continuing their journey out of the maze—Martin would be done by now, and he was probably wondering why they were taking so long anyway. “You are my human. You wouldn’t have any other attitude,” he noted with pride, overwhelmed that Louis had walked into his life in the rude and presumptuous way he had—it could never have been anyone else for Harry.

“There’s something that makes me kind of non-human, though,” Louis said, more to himself than Harry, but of course the vampire responded.

“There is, isn’t there?” Harry sighed, running his hand up and down Louis’ arm when light shivers cascaded across his not-temperature-resistant body. Win some, you lose some. “I will awaken you, Louis. I promise. I couldn’t ever let you die of disease or age when I could have done something about it. You are going to make the most perfect immortal, I can already imagine it. You’ll be faster than me, no doubt. Not stronger though,” he added to keep some of his ego intact.

“How do you know I’ll be faster?” Louis inquired, seriously doubting that an advantage like that could match or beat Harry’s.

Harry wanted to say that it was because Alexander had been faster, but that didn’t necessarily mean Louis would be too. He supposed it was just a gut feeling—but it was a strong one. “If I’m wrong, I’ll let you win a race anyway.”

“Whoa, no! Now you’ve filled me with determination. There will be a race, mister, and I will win it fair and square. It is _so_ on now!” Louis declared, grumbling over the fact that he’d be given an easy win. Not if he has anything to say about it.

“I look forward to it,” Harry said with a light smile, finally getting them out of the damn maze and back across the yard. The weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders, and he’d never felt more secure in his relationship to Louis. The cards were on the table.

“But wait...when is this? When are you gonna turn me?”

Harry thought long and hard about the when. Something he’d debated before, but nothing had stuck because he obviously couldn’t make the decision without Louis. “I don’t know, Lou. Should we pick a date?”

Now it was Louis’ turn to think. He had fleeting temptations to say “now,” but he couldn’t be that rash about such a huge choice. He had loose ends to tie, he needed to find a way to take care of his Mother, and he needed to finish high school. “How about some time after I graduate?” he asked, looking up to Harry.

“Mmm...when is that exactly? Gotta remember I’m ancient. Months don’t exist,” he said with a shrug, again reveling in Louis’ adorable giggle.

“I graduate on June 12th. It’s April now, so that gives us just a littler over a month. Two-ish. Got some things I gotta do,” he said, nervous but excited that some form of rough-draft deadline had been set for his immortality.

“Louis, are you sure about this?” Harry asked sternly, stopping them once again by the fountain and turning Louis toward him by his shoulders, bending down so he could detect any hesitation or lies.

“I’d be full of shit if I said I wasn’t nervous. But don’t take my nerves for indecisiveness. When I look at you, I know that I don’t want to look at anything else for an eternity. If I have to live forever, and possibly see the end of the world, then you’re gonna be at my side. It’s all I want. Do I want to have to drink blood every time I want to have a working heart? No, it honestly sounds taxing—” Harry snorted at that. “—but it’ll be with you, and that means worth it. I don’t know how I stumbled into this life, but you’re having a laugh if you think I’m not here for it with my entire being,” he finished, taking a deep breath and grabbing Harry in much the same serious way the vampire had to level with him. “Do you get that?”

Harry’s eyes were positively sparkling with love and affection, and a simple kiss wouldn’t be enough to convey his feelings, but for the time, it would have to do. He leaned forward and sealed their lips together, pushing all the things he couldn’t say into it like Louis might be able to interpret it that way.

As it were, he could. When Louis pulled back, he realized he’d teared up, and Harry’s frantic reaction shot the tears out faster, but they were the happy kind. “I know what you mean,” he said knowingly, sharing a second of indescribable eye contact before Martin poked his head out of the back door like a gopher.

“Have I done all that for nothing?” he shouted, breaking the pair apart and earning instant apologies, though Louis didn’t know what he was apologizing for. “Come on!” he urged, circling his arm like a windmill to compel them forward.

Harry smiled and began to skip backward, Louis following him as though he were leashed. “Hope you’re hungry.”

Once inside, Louis’ nose was pelted with the scent of one of his favourite meals, and he didn't need to ask how Harry knew. He wasn't sure how, but they were so mentally in sync, it didn't seem to shock him.

They rounded the corner to the kitchen, and Louis was still blown away, though he'd basically known what to expect. The kitchen had been transformed into some dimly candlelit romantic getaway, complete with a burgundy tablecloth, a vase of lively flowers, the finest of china, a medium rare tri-tip on a silver platter, mashed potatoes topped with a copious amount of green onions, a fancy bowl of steamed and seasoned vegetables, and four bottles of wine.

“You didn't,” he breathed, lightly elbowing Harry in the side for being so affectionately impulsive.

“You’re right, I didn't. Martin did,” Harry said, an award-winning smirk on his face that earned him another elbow.

“Thank you, Martin,” Louis amended, letting himself be guided to the only chair that had dishes set out on the table in front of it. Dinner with a vampire would always be eating for one.

“What are you thanking him for?” Harry asked, pushing Louis’ chair in for him as he sat down. “It was my idea.”

“Oh, jeez,” Louis snorted, his heart swelling from not only the whole gesture, but also the comforting, typical bantering of his vampires. “I thank the both of you.”

Martin began serving portions of everything onto Louis’ plate, and his mouth watered at the glistening options he had before him. He was gonna eat the crap out of this steak.

“Red wine or white?” Harry asked as though he were the fancy waiter, lifting and theatrically presenting a bottle of each as he proposed the question.

“Not sure. I've never had either,” Louis admitted, oblivious to the looks of shock he got from his company as he stabbed a slice of steak with his actually-silver fork—couldn't have been anything else.

“Oh, this’ll be great,” Harry lilted, popping each kind’s cork out with his sharp nail. “Let's get you a glass of both,” he said, locking eyes with Martin so he could communicate the need for a second glass.

Martin complied with a nod, but Louis, regardless of how impressed he was at Harry pulling out corks with his claw of an index nail, was suspicious at the excitement. “Trying to get me drunk?” he accused with a sly smile, shoveling potatoes into his mouth as Harry poured each respective glass. “Gonna take advantage of a poor, tiny, defenseless human like me?”

“My, my. My plan’s been soiled,” Harry teased, simmering with love from being gifted with Louis’ musical laughter. “No, honestly it’s just because if you get drunk, I will too,” he confessed, gently pushing the tall, curved glasses over to Louis’ side of the table.

“Christ...alright, fine. Both it is,” Louis accepted, trying his hand for the red wine first. Once the taste of it filled his mouth, his nose automatically scrunched up in defense, swallowing the somehow dry liquid and studying the glass as it traveled down his throat.

“Not to your fancy?” Harry asked, an amused smile taking Louis’ breath away  as usual.

“No, it's not bad. Just bitter,” Louis said, taking another careful sip to decide how he felt about it.

“You'll get used to it,” Harry said surely, letting the subject go as Louis focused on his plate of food.

“When did you get this tri-tip?” Louis asked Martin, having to twist his neck around to catch sight of the elusive butler by the oven. “I’ve been awake all day, and I never saw you leave.”

“Correction. You’ve been distracted in an impenetrable bubble all day, playing the piano like it was your enemy,” Martin argued with a chuckle.

“I guess so, huh?” Louis mused, diving back into his food and getting really close to polishing the plate.

“Besides,” Martin added with mirth dripping from his tone, “when I don’t wish to be noticed, I am invisible.”

Louis laughed, but he couldn’t agree more. “I don’t know how you guys communicate so sneakily. A lot of things have been bought and shown up when I’d sworn nobody could have left,” he commented, the wide variety of snacks and medical supplies coming to mind.

Harry leaned forward and gave Louis a devilish wink. “We’re fast,” he said, flashing his fangs as he smiled.

“Yeah, that’s clear,” Louis said, tasting the white wine to wash down the last of the potatoes. This one was a lot worse than the red, and his face probably showed it pretty blatantly.

“Don’t like that either?” Harry guessed, eyeing the wine with a look of wistfulness that Louis hadn’t expected.

“I fully intend on finishing both of these glasses,” Louis said with determination. If he wanted to be a mature adult, by god he was going to be one.

“Good,” Harry said a little too happily. “I miss wine. Probably one of the only human pleasures I’ve lost that left a hole in my heart… I can’t wait to taste it on you,” he nearly moaned, leaning forward and taking a whiff of the red glass.

“I’ll leave you two alone, then,” Martin said with an awkward throat clearing, already on his way out of the kitchen. “Enjoy your night, Louis. Harry.”

“Thank you, Martin,” Louis made sure to say before he left, unable to look anywhere else but at Harry and his hypnotic gaze.

Martin nodded his head in thanks for the recognition, but he soon realized he was nodding to nobody, and he left with a knowing smile plastered on his face.

Several minutes went by of Louis finishing a second helping of steak, and valiantly decreasing the level of his wine glasses, and Harry intently watching him do it, until Louis spoke again. “I’ll miss things like this,” he said, tapping the plate with the edge of his fork.

“You will,” Harry confirmed, looking a bit nostalgic himself.

“Is this your way your subtle way of making me consider all the details? Sink it all in? What I’ll lose?” Louis challenged in a joking manner, but there was some curious truth to the question.

“No, this is just me treating you to something you deserve,” Harry assured, beginning to wrap things in saran wrap to put in the fridge for Louis’ later consumption. “But…” he added sadly, returning to the table and kneeling at Louis’ chair, “if you find you love tri-tip more than me…I’ll understand,” he mourned, stifling a sniffle and acting offended when Louis broke out into giggles.

“Oh stop,” Louis scoffed, leaning over and shocking Harry into a kiss. “You know I could never love anything more than you.”

“That’s true, I do know that,” Harry agreed, finally packing everything away and smirking at all the wine bottles on the table. “What do you say we take those into the bedroom?” he suggested, moving Louis’ hair away from his neck and dragging his lips across the skin.

Louis chuckled low in his throat, standing to wrap his hands around Harry’s neck as he pretended to seriously consider the undeniable offer. He acted like he figured it out and cocked his head to the bottles. “You carry me, I’ll carry them.”

 

\---

 

It was a miracle that Louis hadn’t spilled anything out of the two open bottles in his lap as Harry ascended the stairs to the mirror room, but in the end, he was successful. Taking multiple sips from both to lower their capacity had certainly did that endeavor a measure of good...it did some other things too.

Harry laughed as Louis hiccuped from the fast drinking and constant moving. “You wanna see something ‘groovy’?” he asked with heavy emphasis on the slang term, stopping at the top of the trapdoor until he got an answer.

“What kind of thing?” Louis asked in interest, repressing another hiccup and readjusting the bottles on his lap, scrunching his eyebrows when Harry only took a few steps backward. “What are you doing?”

“Put the bottles down for a second,” Harry instructed, bending down so Louis could line them all up on the floor. “Hold on,” he warned, waiting until Louis’ grip around his shoulders tightened before scaring the shit out of him. Once he felt it, he took two large steps forward and dove headfirst down the staircase with Louis in his arms, essentially flying down the passage and slightly turning when it curved.

Louis screeched in enjoyment and didn’t dare close his eyes even if it was too dark to see anyway. The rush of wind that parted to let them through made him feel as though he was on a rollercoaster, and it was crazy to realize that it was just the actions of his boyfriend...the alcohol also added a disorientating edge to the whole ordeal.

Harry somehow straightened out mid-air and landed perfectly on his feet at the end of the stairs, spinning in a quick circle with the giggling Louis in his arms and walking forward to drop him down on the bed.

“That was fantastic!” Louis praised loudly, constantly in awe of vampires and their rule-bending relationship with gravity. “I don’t even understand how you’re ( _hiccup_ ) possible.”

“Well we certainly can’t fly, but we can get pretty damn close sometimes,” Harry said as he lit the usual candles, rushing back to collect all four bottles and return with them, promptly removing his shirt when his hands were free.

“Oh, getting right into it, are we?” Louis asked in amusement, sloppily taking off his as well, relieved that his hiccups had subsided.

“I’m sorry, but after all the abstinence today, I’ve reached my limit,” Harry admitted, jumping out of his bottoms and dropping to his knees to slide Louis’ off too.

“No complaints here,” Louis said, reaching over and gulping down a stupid amount of the red wine, simultaneously shivering when the cold air brushed against his numbed skin. The flow of alcohol flowing through his system was tingling all kinds of nerves, but one specific thing it touched on was his confidence. The fuzzier his head got, the more inhibitions he mysteriously misplaced. He bit his lip impishly and rolled up on his hands and knees, presenting his arse for Harry to bite into at his will.

“What are you asking for exactly?” Harry asked curiously and approvingly, his hands automatically roaming to Louis’ arse because it was right there in front of him.

Louis reached a hand back and patted his right cheek, looking over his shoulder with jaded but determined eyes. “Bite me here,” he suggested, watching a dark, lustful expression take over Harry’s face.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Harry responded, diving in and biting into the flesh before Louis had a chance to prepare himself for the outcome.

“ _Shit_ , Harry!” Louis gasped, the endorphins traveling first to his groin, then propelling upward to invade his willing head.

The vampire wrapped his arm around Louis’ hips to hold him up in case he fell, and reached over to grab the small bottle of lube that always sat on his bookshelf. He used the hand around Louis’ pelvis to open the cap and squirt some onto his other fingers, and then closed it with his palm, tossing it away without a care as to where it would end up.

With his fingers slicked and impatient to be inside something, he bent his arm and made slippery circles around Louis’ hole, listening to the high-pitched mewls that emanated from his mouth. He smirked in his head and pressed them against his entrance, sighing against his arse as they sunk deeper and deeper into his channel.

Louis moaned into the sheets and slid his left leg further from his right, carefully angling his hips up higher and giving Harry the time to move with him. Louis was partly aware that he didn’t feel even a tiny blip of discomfort, and he figured this was the alcohol at work, and he suddenly wondered why he’d never done this before. Harry’s fingers began to pump in and out, grazing his prostate each time with careless ease, bringing him right up to the edge of an orgasm in no time at all.

Harry hummed in arousal when Louis came, his inner walls contracting and spasming around the fingers that were still resting within him. He took his time removing them after he’d backed his teeth out, giggling from a sudden realization as he drew the fingers all the way out. He was tipsy.

“What _is_ that laugh?” Louis asked in amusement, futilely reaching for more wine, and yipping in victory when Harry beat him to it and put it right into his hand.

“Nothing, I just haven’t felt this in a long time,” Harry admitted, sighing as he closed his eyes and marinated in the light and floaty effects of the alcohol.

“I need you to fuck me right now,” Louis ordered, his state of mind muddled, but with a painless body, his arousal was more adamant than ever.

Harry wanted it too. Louis’ wet hole looked far too inviting to make wait any longer, so Harry shook off his slightly blurring vision and pushed Louis’ hips down into the bed. He then mounted him from behind, retrieving the lube bottle for the second time—thankfully he was able to find it—and worked the gel-like substance onto his cock instead.

With an unfiltered moan of pleasure, he pushed it inside Louis without giving him much time to adjust, but he’d been right—Louis could take it without any prep. His fingers had been enough. The alcohol may have had something to do with his pliancy, but he’d also been well trained for sex with a vampire by now. Happy combination of both. The feeling of his cock sliding into such comfortable warmth always made Harry want to come instantly, but he had a Louis to please first—and would he ever.

“Oh _god_ , Harry. You feel so good. Fill me up, I need to feel it,” Louis ordered, nearly convulsing when Harry pushed in all the way. “Fuck me, Harry. Don't hold back.”

“You want it rough?” Harry purred, licking a broad stripe up Louis’ neck.

“I want it to hurt,” Louis groaned, pushing his hips back with quivering thigh muscles.

“Shh, love, I'll give it to you,” Harry promised. He knew Louis didn't quite know what he was asking for, and he could definitely make it hurt a lot, so he had to tone it down a little. Dealing with a fragile human was a fine line, but he could make it wild enough for Louis’ standards. He pulled out to the head and slammed back in without warning, establishing an unforgiving pace and using a smidgen of his vampiric speed to rock Louis’ world. He yanked Louis up to his knees and held onto his hips like handlebars, driving his cock in and out as Louis hung paralyzed beneath him.

Louis could only growl in appreciation with every thrust, his arms lying uselessly at his sides as his elevated hips took the brunt of the maddening force Harry was penetrating him with. “Right there, don’t stop, just like that,” he chanted, a string of similar demands pouring out of his mouth, but he didn’t even hear himself. All he knew was he never wanted this to end.

“You’re an animal, Lou,” Harry said proudly, giving it to his human as hard as his frail body could handle. There were no ignorant doubts that he wouldn’t be unbelievably sore tomorrow, but all they had was right now.

Louis responded with more feral groaning, further driving the point home that he was barely human at the moment. Driven by attraction, lust, and desperation, the carnal desires that rose within him were on a much different level than any arousal he’d ever experienced...surely this isn’t _just_ the power of alcohol, is it? He didn’t care. “Flip me over. Drink from me,” he gasped, amazed when Harry did it so fast that he didn’t notice losing their connection before Harry re-entered him.

“You’re so dirty,” Harry snarled, grabbing the back of Louis’ neck and rearing his head back, extending his fangs and diving in as he picked up his thrusting again. Drinking blood during sex was technically highly promiscuous, but between committed lovers, it didn’t matter. Who would judge them?

Louis’ back arched as he was given the combination he’d been pining for since Harry’s piano escapade. The vampire had been right; he was unraveling. He came with a cry of Harry’s name on his lips, and the strength of the orgasm inadvertently clenched every muscle he had. He was still wailing in ecstasy when Harry followed suit, that warm rush of come filling Louis and giving him the filthiest of satisfactions.

Harry reemerged from his neck and slowed his momentum to shallow thrusts, letting both of them ride out of their highs as he brought their passion to their mouths. They kissed like they’d been starved, their lower halves remaining connected but stationary, their lips and tongues redirecting that leftover energy.

Louis didn’t know how long they dominated each other’s mouths, but it had to be a while, because when Harry broke the kiss, Louis’ lips were numb. “That was incredible,” Louis slurred, black stars dancing across his vision.

Harry slowly pulled out of Louis’ hole, gaze darting down to watch his semen slowly drip out of it. “I will never tire of this sight,” he sighed in adoration, collecting some on his finger and guiding it to Louis’ mouth.

Louis took the digit onto his tongue without question, wholly unaware of how severe Harry’s inner breakdown was over it.

“Fuck, Louis. I want to do so much to you,” the vampire groaned, hovering over the naked human and actively fighting his impulses for the millionth time.

“You wanna turn me?” Louis guessed, panting up at Harry and watching the whirlwind of emotions strike his features.

Harry stared into Louis’ hooded eyes and bit his own lip, careful not to prick it with a fang otherwise his efforts would be meaningless the next time they kissed. “Don’t tempt me like that, Louis. You want to wait until after you graduate. Understand that there are certain things you could do that would make that early breach of deadline not my fault,” he said in frustration, unable to speak for himself with any eloquence due to the effects of alcohol. He began to roll off of Louis, but the human wasn’t having it.

“I won’t mention it again. I’m sorry. I just want it too. Take comfort ‘cuz that it’s hard for both of us,” Louis said surely, ignorant of his sentence fumble, hand subconsciously traveling to the red wine bottle because yeah, it was delicious now.

“That doesn’t help me much,” Harry laughed, his mood lifting when he assessed his own mental state. That second feeding from Louis had drastically raised his level of intoxication, and sex had sped it through his bloodstream. He was drunk. “You wanna know what I think?” he caught himself saying, laying down on the mattress with a bounce.

“What?” Louis cooed, his infectious giggling taking on a mind of its own.

“Er...what I _don’t_ think?” Harry slurred, furrowing his eyebrows as the room start spinning.

“Yes. Wait, what?” Louis asked, putting the bottle down before he dropped it.

“I think…”

“You mean ‘don’t’?”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Christ,” Harry cackled, slapping his forehead at their shared incompetence. “I don’t think Alexander possessed you,” he said slowly.

“Heh? What do you—”

“I think you’ve been reborn. You look too silimar,” he grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose as alcohol completely overtook him.

“Similar?” Louis corrected, just as lost as the vampire was, but impressively catching that minor slip-up.

“What?”

“I don’t know—you said… _Harry_! ‘Member when we shared that human who’d eaten like...a pound of fuckin’ coca leaves?” he suddenly asked, a memory flitting into his mind and then leaving as soon as it had appeared.

“Ohhh god. And then we climbed onto that tavern and played leap-frog across all the roofs in London?” Harry recalled, his stomach cramping from his unadulterated laughter.

“What are you talking about?” Louis giggled, all knowledge he’d said anything gone from his thoughts.

“I...what?”

“Harry, would you dance with me?” Louis asked excitedly, stumbling onto his feet and holding a hand out to help Harry up.

“Dance? There’s no music,” Harry noted, nevertheless taking Louis’ hand and cooperating as he was pulled to stand. Louis began to shove articles of clothing at Harry while he collected his own, and the two must have looked like baby giraffes learning how legs work trying to dress themselves, but neither face-planted even one time, so that’s gotta be some kind of record.

“There is in living room,” Louis pointed out, his eyes crossing as he stared into Harry’s.

“You mean the—that thing?”

“Carry me, I’ll bring this,” Louis said, picking the white bottle up because he’d finished the red...at some point.

“You’re not kidding, are you?”

“Nope,” Louis sung, popping the ‘p’ sound in the word.

“Hold on,” the vampire instructed, tripping up the stairs and trying his best to walk a straight line down the hall.

“I love you,” Louis squealed, leaning back in Harry’s arms and watching the paintings pass upside down.

“And I you,” Harry seconded, a loud belch following his confession. “Whoa, you’re gonna spill that,” he warned, just a second too late.

“Ahhhshit,” Louis laughed, wiping at the front of his shirt that just gotten soaked by his clumsiness. “It’s inside out anyway.”

Harry snickered and started to jump off the railing of the second floor, but thought better of it and took the stairs instead. Louis wiggled to get free once they were in the living room, and Harry gently put him down, watching in amusement as he flew to the record player. “Careful with that, Zayn got it for on Christmas. He’ll lose his mind if happens to it.”

 _Of course it came from Zayn_ , Louis thought. He squinted his eyes at Harry’s speech because he could have sworn there were several missing words, but his attention was quickly brought to the records on the coffee table. He slid them across the surface like poker players sometimes shuffle their cards, and contemplated what he wanted to hear.

“Alex, what are you—”

“How did I not notice this today?” Louis gasped, snatching The Grateful Dead’s _American Beauty_ record from the pile and walking it to the player. He fumbled through the process of putting the vinyl on the platform, but he’d done it so many times in his life, he was sure that he could do this while inebriated on anything.

He backed away when the needle landed on the edge, hopping around in victory as the acoustic strum of _Box of Rain_ filtered into the air. “ _Look out of aaany window. Any morning. Any evening, any dahayyy,_ ” he sung obnoxiously, spinning in circles and just narrowly missing the coffee table’s sharp corner with his knees every time.

“Okay, I need to be on your level,” Harry noted, stalking forward and capturing Louis’ neck with his teeth mid-spin.

“Ungh,” Louis choked, melting into the death-grip Harry had made around his upper body. “Yesss.”

Harry pulled off sooner than he usually would because he’d already taken a fair amount tonight, and he did not need any emergencies happening while he was wasted—taking one introspective peek at his long gone sobriety, the word became applicable. He was wasted. He threw his head back in laughter and twirled around the room with his fun-loving Louis in his arms, letting himself have the time of his life while he had it.

Louis’ eyes lit up when _Box of Rain_ transformed into _Friend of The Devil_ , but the most amazing thing was Harry’s reaction—Harry clearly knew it too. They slurred their way through the first verse and sped up their twirling hops, both grinning to each other and shouting the chorus at the top of their lungs:

_“I set out running but I’ll take my time,_

_A friend of the devil is a friend of mine,_

_If I get home before daylight,_

_Just might get some sleep tonight.”_

 

~~~

 

Martin had crept out of his room at the commotion, and what he found was a never-before-seen vision of entertainment. Master Harry was off his rocker from the wine, no doubt, and his cracking voice wailing to _The_ _Grateful_ _Dead_ filled Martin with more joy than he could ever describe. Harry had been alone, angry, and depressed for so long, but Louis was able to get him drunk and dance—miracles do happen.

“Come down here, Martin!” Harry suddenly called, almost making the butler fall right over the ledge in surprise.

“Oh, no I couldn’t—”

“ _Now_ , Martin,” Louis added, taking more sips of the white wine from the table.

Martin ran a hand through his blonde hair and sighed; he wasn’t getting out of this. He slid his butt down the railing at the top of the stairs and danced his way into the room, picking up the lyrics where he’d come in to and belting about ‘Sweet Anne Marie,’ sheriffs on his tail, and spending his life in jail.

 

\---

 

The trio kept up their causeless celebration for most of that album’s longevity; Louis drunk off alcohol, Harry drunk off Louis, and Martin drunk off the carefree vibes. The night then came to a point of shifty stomach conditions, and though Louis noticed it first, Harry was soon to follow.

“You guys okay?” Martin asked, stopping his already snail-paced swaying to _Attics of My Life_ to regard the couple with concern.

Harry and Louis locked eyes and nodded, clasping one hand together and making a mad dash down the hall. Martin laughed until he cried and splayed out on the carpet, interlocking his fingers under his head and letting the song slow his heart rate—of course he’d run to the fridge earlier to come alive for this.

When the album ended and the lovers hadn’t come back yet, Martin cleaned up the area and turned the player off, returning the vinyl to its cover, and swept down the hall to investigate. What he found was ridiculous.

Louis was passed out by the toilet, using his arm on the seat as a pillow, and Harry was snoring like an electric power tool, bent over the bathtub for the same reason Louis had claimed the toilet. “Honestly,” he muttered in exasperation, deciding he’d deal with Harry first since he was heavier.

He hooked his arms under Harry’s chest and heaved him up, glad that he hadn’t gotten vomit on his clothes because now Martin’s job was easier. He dropped down and pulled Harry over his shoulder, swiftly exiting and using all of his strength to carry him up four damn flights of stairs. Once he got to the mirror room, he had a very strong urge to throw him straight down the trapdoor, but he knew he’d get the fist for that, so he dragged him all the way to the bottom and dropped him on his bed.

Returning to the bathroom in a millisecond, Louis was delightfully much easier for Martin to maneuver. His weight was closer in comparison to a pillow’s than the sack of rocks Harry’s had been, and the butler was lighter on his feet as he cradled the human in his arms. He walked down the spiral steps a second time and gently laid Louis down next to his drunken immortal, positioning their limbs into a semi-cuddling fashion, and draping a comforter over their unresponsive bodies.

Harry wouldn’t have a headache tomorrow, he’d be dead tomorrow, but Louis… Martin decided he should probably get some pills to leave on the bedside table. He couldn’t help shaking his head and crossing his arms as he stared at their sleeping forms. He wanted to scold them, but they were currently gone to this world. Martin was more so just proud and glad they’d found each other, because no members of two separate species had ever complimented each other so nicely. “Match made in somewhere… You crazy creatures.”

 

\---

 

Louis awoke to the drum-like beatings of an ear-splitting headache. He groaned into his pillow and wrestled both hands up to his skull to hold it gingerly. He dared to crack an eye open and was surprised to find a lamp was on.

“What the…” he muttered, sitting up and swallowing the immediate bile that rose to his throat. “Ugh.”

His eyes wandered to the two pills that had been set out for him, and he took them both at once, downing the glass of water that accompanied them.

He then took a deep breath and stared at the lamp he'd never before seen, plugged into an outlet he didn't know the basement had, and was suddenly able to get the full view of the room that candlelight could never display.

He stood up and flinched from his bare feet hitting the frigid concrete, wrapping his arms around his body as he walked around. The basement/vampire bedroom was dusty and stuffy as per usual, with concrete floors, walls, and ceiling, and he knew that already, but he had no idea how far back everything stretched—the answer is far.

The outline of the basement was essentially a giant ‘Z’ shape, but with a straight line down, instead of a diagonal one. When you came in from the bottom step, the first thing you saw was Harry’s bed on the floor just a little to the left, the bookcase built into the concrete running alongside it, accompanied by his little short tables. Random belongings, such as clothes, knick-knacks, bloody towels, and unused candles messily covered the floor surrounding the entire area, but it was clear that there was an entire world around the left corner.

If you got past the floor landmines, the basement then opened up into the clearer portion of the room that appeared to be mostly unventured. On the far right side was the the common things in basements, such as the water heater, and black box for the electricity he'd initially thought this place didn't have. Little patches of the walls and ceiling around the water heater showcased the underlying plywood and thicker beam foundations; pink, fluffy insulation hanging out at will.

Once you grazed over all the open area to the right, the left side beyond the bed and living area was where the new and exciting stuff was. He continued his large encirclement, dead set for a suspicious-looking chest partly concealed by a large pillar. He vaguely comprehended he shouldn't open it, but curiosity got the best of him. He had to know.

He dropped to his knees and tried to lift it open. It was ludicrously heavy, so he threw his weight in and proudly got it to give way, the cracking sound it made proving it hadn’t been touched in a long time. He peered inside and felt around, pulling out a huge wad of paper money he’d never seen. “Whoa,” he breathed, sitting down on his butt and studying the currency.

He could only gather it was Italian from the words ‘ _Lire Cinquecentomila_ ’ and ‘ _Banca D’Italia_ ,’ but it was the number that kept grabbing his attention. 500,000. “How much even is this?” he wondered aloud, squinting his eyes at the pictures on the money. He saw a soft-looking man apparently named Raffaello with shoulder-length wavy hair topped with an eccentric hat, and two people riding what looked like a chariot of dolphins through a sea. On the other side depicted a more Roman style architecture building with a bunch of probably philosophers interspersed on a staircase with their fancy tunics, speaking of the meaning of life, or whatever was the topic of the time. He slipped the bill back into its band of identical pieces and dropped the pile back into the chest, fishing around for other things.

All money. Shiny coins, rusted coins, things that barely even resembled coins; paper and scratchy parchment bills of different colours, sizes, languages, the dates ranging further apart than any lifetime historical collector could ever get their hands on. The numbers were all over the place, and Louis was thoroughly impressed. “Rich bastard,” he smirked, throwing Harry a look the vampire would never see over his shoulder.

After enough exploration of the money chest, he quietly closed it and kept walking, finding box after box against the walls, but still unwilling to ravage every piece of Harry’s belongings without him. If he got the go-ahead when he got the chance to ask, then he’d come back and flip through every single one, but without that confirmation, it would feel a little wrong.

Moving on down the line, the left corner was occupied by five blocky coffins, and if you know Louis by now, you already knew how much he wanted to. He ran his hand along with the more fancy, smooth black one, because he didn’t want splinters from its wooden counterpart, and shuddered when he imagined sleeping in this. Obviously it was a necessity at some point in history, but the thought still unnerved him. What if someone buried you? Well...he supposed vampires could dig their way out of practically anything.

Averting his eyes from the coffins, he found golden goblets in opened compartments, jewelry, some weapons, and a large envelope atop a table filled with what Louis could just barely grasp as letters before he shoved them back in and dropped the envelope. Letters and documents were out of the question. He’d done enough journal snooping to satisfy that disrespectful urge.

Louis was completing his round, about to get back to the corner of the “bookshelves” and reach the sleeping Harry, but a dip in the wall he was running his hand along sparked his interest. He paused and inspected the damaged wall, and it wasn’t hard to piece together what must have happened to it.

All along the surface of the wall were indentations and crater-like flaws that could only have come from a fist. He fastened his fingers into a fist of his own and lightly rested it in the concave circle, wondering what Harry had been frustrated with to take it out on a wall like this.

Surveying his eyes, Louis also found angry lines carved into the concrete, usually five at one time, and this realization was worse. Harry had clawed at the wall hard enough to take some of the top layer with him. Louis stood on his tiptoes to reach the closest set of marks, running his fingertips down the lines and mourning over the pain that had been evidently felt.

He cocked his head to the side and caught a scent of himself, and jesus does he need a shower. He grabbed a change of clothes off the bed and made for the stairs, turning off the lamp on his way because there was no reason to waste perfectly good electricity. The morning rays greeted him in the mirror room like warm arms against his skin, and he was kind of surprised it was this early anyway. After the night he’d had, it wouldn’t have confounded him if he’d rolled out of bed the same time as Harry.

He walked through the empty and quiet halls to the bathroom, hopping in his favourite (only) shower and turning the water on afterward. Big mistake. He yipped as he dodged the freezing water, impatiently waiting for it to heat up for his advantage. Sucks being the only creature in a household that has to use these facilities. It’s never warmed up for you.

While he coated his body in lavender-scented body wash, he came to the realization that he had no homework to do. That left him a full day to himself and whatever he felt like doing, but he had no ideas. He knew he would go out back at some point and observe the fountain in daylight, and other aimless things like that, but this lonely days were starting to get to him. There’s only so much you can do with yourself, even in a history museum. He’s less inclined to search Harry’s things now because he knows him too personally.

So what did that leave him with? A day of sulking and waiting for two vampires to wake up? _You have a song to create_ , his inner thoughts reminded him, making him groan as he turned the water off and stepped out onto the marble-y floor. Music final it is, then.

 

\---

 

Harry woke up when Louis flopped down on top of him, the little beauty stifling a yawn and no doubt unaware that his flopping had made a difference in Harry’s state of consciousness. “Hello, Louis.”

“Shit!” Louis yelped, flying off Harry’s stomach and giving him space. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, what time is it?” Harry asked, sitting up and holding Louis’ shy face in his hand.

“It’s eight thirty-seven,” Louis informed, taking Harry’s hand and planting kisses all over it.

“Last night was incredible...what did you do today?” Harry asked, gracefully disposing of his clothing to put fresh garments on.

“Last night _was_. And I mostly worked on my piano final, went outside for a bit, tried to play the guitar, failed, stared at myself in the mirror a lot—”

“Now that’s something I would _definitely_ do if I were you,” Harry said approvingly, giving Louis a wink as he stretched his spine. “Stare at myself in a mirror all day. Just like old times...”

“Psh,” Louis scoffed, lightly punching Harry in the stomach and surrendering when he was trapped in an embrace. “Not for vanity, of course! My eye just trips me out sometimes.”

“Mmm...it suits you,” Harry murmured, giving him a quick kiss.

“So I’ve heard,” Louis chuckled, standing on his tiptoes to steal another one.

Harry accepted and pushed their lips right back together, both sighing into each other’s mouths before pulling apart. “You look exhausted, my love.”

“Ughh I am,” Louis grunted, yawning once more into his fist, unable to control its size or volume.

“Get some sleep then. You have school tomorrow, you shouldn’t stay up all night just for me. There’s more time than you think for us,” Harry said sweetly, guiding Louis backward and laying him down without debate.

“Don’t you wanna come alive?” Louis asked innocently, offering his neck and all the amazing things that came along with it.

“I do,” Harry admitted, appearing to think it over before making the choice. “I guess it’ll help you sleep,” he said, leaning in to profit from his lover’s body.

“Thought so,” Louis moaned, slipping into a sudden sleep right in the middle of the feeding.

Harry noticed it at once and chuckled, sitting back on his knees and pressing one of the cloths to Louis’ marks, giving him a last kiss before facing the long night ahead.

He decided to go to his library, because he’d neglected to write in his journal for quite some time, even though there have definitely been important things happening as of late. He passed Martin on the way and the butler smiled nervously at him, no doubt worried about the reaction over last night festivities. “It was fun, Martin,” Harry assured, giving a lopsided smile when Martin visibly relaxed.

He made it into the library and headed straight for the table, sliding his journal over and checking the status of the pen. Still inked. He flipped to the back end and found the last entry he’d written, snorting under his breath at the content and hurrying to a blank page.

_Year 19Endless ~_

_My eloquence has no doubt wilted since my last update. I suppose I can blame those in my “life” who are so obsessed with current affairs for my deteriorating language. Though I feel the world is getting smaller, the minds of its people are steadfast begging to be stupid. So much to learn out there, so much otherness from oneself, and yet the desire to learn these humans once had is all but gone. Why?_

_Is there no more room left for the Newtons and the Copernicuses? Where is this world’s Aristotle? Do I sound like any elder human by judging this generation? Do not all children of a decade look down upon their successors? Maybe I’ve become cranky, and maybe Alex is right, I may have a bit of a God complex. Hard not to when everything outside yourself sounds so naïve._

_These people flew to that moon we always admired so much, so I suppose my complaining sounds ignorant. However, with so much outward speculation, they have forgotten the most important direction to look. Inside of yourself. That is where you will find the answers, not the black of space. I wonder if I could go there someday. I’d fare better than the physically needy astronauts, that’s the truth._

_Sometimes I find myself condemning this world just as vehemently as I always have, but then I remember that Louis was born from this century—very recently—and is that not a gift? A shred of evidence that the planet has not lost its beautiful flowers in a sea of unsightly weeds? Precisely. That would be Louis._

_His mysterious background and origin leave me speechless time and time again. Funny how he would say the same for me, and I can’t imagine his perspective of me, but it is him that is inexplicable. My story is simple; his story is shrouded in cryptic riddles._

_Will forever with him answer all of the question that surround us day by day? Can time unlock the curiosity and misunderstanding? Even if it does not, would I care? Not even a minor bit. Louis is mine, and I’ll make him mine until the end of time. I’d like to see anything try to get rid of this glimmer of hope I nurture. I will not let him go so easily. For without Louis, I am truly finished. This is an only chance for the both of us. Or...is it a second chance?_

_I just wish…_

“Master Harry?” Martin called, interrupting his flow of words and apparently startling him.

“What?” Harry asked, turning around and brushing off his flinch of surprise, an unreadable expression of something between frustration and amusement on his face.

“Zayn is here, thought you’d like to know,” Martin said, motioning a lazy hand toward the library door.

“So that’s what I smelled. I knew it,” Harry sighed, shutting the book and crossing the pen over its leather cover, following Martin out to greet his unexpected visitor. All of his years, something had always stopped him from completing that damn sentence. He had thought the Gods had been behind it for so long, because it was consistently timed too perfectly, but now he just thinks it’s fate. The papers shall never know what he wishes, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's confused about the layout of the basement? Agh, god, I tried really hard to explain it, I fucked up didn't i? IS IT CONFUSING AS HELL? I really lost it at the "Z" part godddd, i can't even try to make that better xD One more to go, ach, I feel like a dick wrapping this up after 14, but you'll see why I have to when you read it. Book two has been FULLY OUTLINED. Did it last night, so I know what I'm doing. I'm just still waiting to get better to type it all out tho. Wow, this is long okay byeee


	14. Incoming Adversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Last one for now. I really hate to leave y'all in the dust, but I will return to you. This I swear. Love Endless will continue <3

“—my _God_ ,” Niall finished, having started his exclamation before Louis had even opened the door.

“Is that a good thing?” Louis laughed, heaving himself up into the passenger seat and brushing the light trickle of snow off his shoulders. Let the record show that it was the first of May, winter was _supposed_ to be over, but Idaho rarely listens.

“I can’t believe how greedy you are for keeping that mansion all to yourself!” Niall berated, _tsk_ ing him like he’d written on the walls with permanent marker.

“What can I say? He’s a private person,” Louis said flippantly, lurching forward when the truck did, while Niall flailed his gear stick around so it would lock in place.

“Sorry,” he said, finally getting the truck into first gear and keeping it there. “And my ass! He sang a song for you in front of everyone!”

“Well I can’t deny that…” Louis trailed, the topic of Greensleeves stirring a peculiar hum within his mind, like something was subtly kindling in his brain, and if handled a certain way, it could ignite a flame. He shifted his thoughts away before he caught on fire, and turned the conversation over on Niall—who had many things to explain. “How was Zayn?” he asked, biting his lips in amusement when the blonde almost moaned in response to the name.

“Zayn,” Niall repeated, the most starry-eyed look on his face that Louis had ever seen. “Zayn was amazing.”

“Well?” Louis pressed urgently, lightly punching Niall on the arm with his knuckles. “That’s not nearly good enough! What happened after you left?”

“After I…left…” Niall drawled, diving headfirst in a detailed account of his alone time with Zayn.

 

~~~

 

_Niall followed Zayn out the door with his heart in his throat, lodged so high up that he felt he might cough it out onto his hand._

_Zayn sensed his nerves right away, and he reached out to counteract the electrical tension. “There is no need to feel fear with me,” he said, halting their strides so he could take the jumpy human in his arms._

_“I’m not scared,” Niall argued, melting into Zayn’s embrace and sighing as quietly as he could._

_“Maybe not scared, but certainly anxious,” Zayn said in amusement, taking Niall’s hand and leading him down the hill to cross through the gate of Harry’s property._

_Niall sifted through his potential responses but found none of value, settling for stealing sneaky glances at Zayn when he thought he wasn’t looking._

_Only a few steps back up the hill, Niall heaved a tired exhale through his mouth, and Zayn stopped at once._

_“Allow me,” the vampire said kindly, picking Niall up like he was his bride, and resuming their walk on his own two feet._

_Niall gasped and wound his arms around Zayn’s neck, staring up at him in frantic admiration while the boy effortlessly trekked up the hill without breaking a sweat, or panting once. He was amazed at Zayn’s resilience to the unforgiving inclination; let’s not forget he was the tennis captain, and by default, extremely physically active—but this had proven too much even for him._

_Having a human in the cage of Zayn’s arms was a delectable circumstance that he hadn’t specifically experienced in a long time, because no fang whore was worth such special treatment. He tightened the grip of his hands where they were on the blonde’s body, and delighted in listening to the pounding heartbeat he had._

_They got to the top of the hill in no time, and Zayn gently placed the woozy Niall down on his feet, steadying him just in case he couldn’t stay upright by himself._

_“Thanks for that,” Niall said weakly, clearing his throat and leaning back against the passenger side of his truck._

_“No need to thank me,” Zayn purred, stepping closer to the human and soaking in some of the body heat that was relentlessly shooting out of his lively skin. “Anything to get you in my arms.”_

_Niall blushed and fiddled with his hands like an idiot, shoving them behind his butt when he realized how embarrassing he must look. “Will I see you again?” he bravely asked, finding the courage to look into Zayn’s smouldering eyes._

_“If you wish to.”_

_“I do!” Niall responded instantly, smiling bashfully and lowering his voice for the repeat. “I really do.”_

_“Then yes, you shall,” Zayn said wisely, gingerly guiding one of Niall’s hands out of its hiding spot so he could hold it._

_“Okay,” Niall said simply, still stargazing at the specks in Zayn’s irises. The fact that he could see them in the dark… “I have to, uh...I have to go back home now,” he said reluctantly, gesturing to his truck as if it was unclear how he would accomplish this._

_“Not without a parting gift,” Zayn whispered, leaning in dangerously close to the blonde’s face and watching his blue eyes widen with shock. He smirked and closed the rest of the distance, his lips landing soft as silk against Niall’s. He held their position as Niall held his breath, pulling back once his spell had been irreversibly cast. “Goodnight, Niall,” he said, backing away from the human as he stumbled forward in response._

_Niall seemed to realize what he was doing, and he giggled like a fool, tripping over his feet in a daze as he rounded the truck to hop into the driver’s side. “Good—goodnight,” he stammered, lifting himself into his seat and shutting the door, letting out a sigh the moment he had a decent amount of privacy._

_He fumbled around with his keys for a good ten seconds, finally getting the right one in the ignition, and coercing the cold truck to wake up. He fixed his mirrors needlessly—as if anyone other than him had been the last to drive his vehicle—and put it into gear, leaning over to peer at Zayn through the window._

_The magnificent boy waved to him and blew him a kiss, and Niall swore he could feel it on his cheek. He quietly screeched with a closed mouth and turned the wheel to drive down the gravelly road, checking his rearview mirror to see Zayn once more._

_In a turn of events that Niall didn’t exactly understand, Zayn was nowhere to be seen. Almost like he had disappeared out of thin air. Niall shrugged and squealed as loud as he wanted, doing a happy dance in his seat all the way back home, accompanied by the sweet tones of Jerry Garcia._

 

~~~

 

“—Then I went home and got chewed out by Maura, but I couldn’t even care. I could still feel him on my lips...still can, even,” he said dreamily, brushing his fingers across said lips and taking deep breaths to keep his mental ducks in a row.

Louis had expected Zayn to do something of the sort, but he hadn’t realized how serious the vampire was about winning his blonde idiot over. The amount of effort he had put into wooing Niall was pleasing to him. If someone is going to go after his best friend, they'd better do it chivalrously. “You’re so smitten,” he accused, unable to get too much on Niall’s case, because he’d been the exact same way about Harry, and he couldn’t deny that.

“Oh, shut up, Lou. You go googly-eyed any time Harry’s name is mentioned, and you know it,” Niall said, stealing the very thought from Louis’ mind.

“I...yeah, I know. Guilty,” Louis laughed, simply happy that they both had love interests to gush to each other about—even if Zayn’s species was still presently a secret.

“I’ll say this, though...” Niall said in an ambiguous tone, visibly considering how he would word whatever he had to say. “There’s something weird about those boys. Martin, too. Not weird in a bad way necessarily...but different. Like something is off with them that you and I are separate from. Like they know something we don’t,” he hypothesized, looking at Louis to maybe have his suspicions confirmed.

Louis laughed shortly and covered his face, shaking his head in disappointment at the vampires’ horrid acting abilities. If they were being obvious enough that Niall picked up on it, then they really needed to tighten some damn screws. “I’d love to see what you come up with,” Louis chuckled, staring out the windshield with purpose and ignoring every glance that Niall sent his way.

“I’m being serious!” Niall pressed, nowhere near the point of giving this subject up.

“I know you are,” Louis said supportively, giving the blonde a pat on the shoulder for his apt skills of deduction. “I just can’t wait for you to start guessing.”

“Oh, I’ll figure it out,” Niall said passionately, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he overflowed with newfound determination regarding this unexpected challenge. Louis had just verified that there _was_ indeed something about those three boys to be questioned, so now he would never forfeit the exploration until he knew what was at the end of the trail.

“I’m sure you will,” Louis said, refusing to break eye contact with the sky, and its distracting vastness. _Zayn will slip up eventually, and when he does, I’m gonna be there. Laughing my fucking ass off._

 

\---

 

“Great going, faggot,” Louis heard from around the truck as he stepped down onto the high school parking lot, leaping away from the voice’s point of origin before he got sucker punched for stalling.

“Leave him alone,” Niall snapped, chasing Troy away from the bed of his truck with his math textbook raised over his head like a sledgehammer.

“Shut up, you city faggot,” Troy growled back, a step above his usual snark this morning.

Louis and Niall shared a split second of worried eye contact, and the blonde flew around the bully to jump in front of Louis, ready to face any and all punches as long as they never landed on his best friend’s body.

“What do you want?” Louis asked warily, peering over Niall’s shoulder and subtly grabbing the back of his shirt for moral support.

“I just wanted to fucking congratulate you on making us lose Dante as the wide receiver...Yeah!” he suddenly yelled, regarding both Louis and Niall’s looks of utter shock and confusion. “Yeah, he fucking quit! Said he didn’t want to mess up his career, and that he needed to focus on his studies before he worried about ‘silly little things like sports’!” he roared, one snarl away from being eligible for a rabies shot.

Louis was speechless—Dante quit the Badgers football team? He realized that Troy was actually blaming him for it, and he scoffed at the mere theory. “You think I had anything to do with Dante quitting your stupid little football team?” he cooed, putting a large amount of fake sympathy into his tone, as if he were coddling a child who had spilled their soup over the top of their high-chair.

“Of course you did! You hypnotize everyone! I know you did something that day at the assembly. He stared into those freaky eyes of yours and fell under your spell or some shit, and now he’s gone. He won’t even return my calls,” he said tightly, trying to hide the fact that Dante’s absence was actually affecting him and his usually hidden emotions.

“I did nothing to Dante for him to turn over a new leaf. He just realized how big of a hypocrite he was being, and changed his life to be more accountable and responsible. Not my god damned fault. I don’t put spells on anyone, you’re just in love with me,” he sneered, linking his arm through Niall’s and dragging him away from the scene. " _And_ my eyes."

“You’re just gonna walk away from me?” Troy shouted, following closely behind so he didn’t look desperate to anyone passing by. “You fuckin’ _wish_ I was in love with you,” he tried to say, making himself sick just from speaking that vulnerable word order. _In love with you._

“No,” Louis laughed brightly, quickening his and Niall’s pace and adding flourished bounces in his steps to hit Troy in the ego as hard as he could. “No, I _really_ don’t.”

 

\---

 

Louis walked into his second period class with a curious and over-active mind, strolling right up to Dante’s desk and practically sitting down on top of it to demand his attention.

“Hey, Louis,” Dante said somewhat carefully, still managing to give him a big smile regardless.

“Dante,” Louis greeted cordially, cocking his head to the back of the class and swiftly moving to the area, expecting Dante to follow—which he did.

“What’s up, Lou?” the former bully asked in a hushed tone, following the incoming students with his eyes before meeting Louis’ mesmerizing ones. He’s not gay in the slightest, but it would be hard to deny their splendor.

“Okay...no nicknames. Ever. That’s just weird,” Louis said as he bobbed his neck back, physically shaking off the idea before continuing. “I just wanted to run something by you, ‘cuz I got stopped by Troy this morning, and he had some interesting things to say—”

“I quit the team,” Dante verified immediately, sinking down into his shoulders when half the class whipped their heads at him in shock.

“But why?” Louis asked, turning so that Dante had to give his back to the class’s prying eyes to face him.

“Because I realized that football isn’t my future. I never had any intention of playing it in college, I was never willing to let my grades suffer for it, and I didn’t like—”

“If you say ‘what Troy was doing,’ I will backhand you so hard, _you’ll_ get a detention for it,” Louis warned, actually getting a bright and crinkly-eyed smile in response.

“I would deserve it. Look, I’m not gonna say I didn’t get sick pleasure from beating you around, because I did. But I also know that it’s because I’m fucked up in the head. I don’t think it’s okay—Troy thinks he has a reason, but I don’t care. I don’t care who you love. I just have something wrong with me,” he admitted, doing a pretty good job of convincing Louis that his eyes held nothing but sincerity.

“That’s just about as self-aware as I’ve ever seen a sociopath get,” Louis said as nicely as he could, giving a small smile to show that his words were devoid of fire.

“Am I a sociopath?” Dante asked seriously, thinking that he may finally have an answer to his explain his behavior.

“Sounds like it...look, it’s all in the past. If you keep it that way. I just hope you realize that what you did actually made Troy that much more hateful towards me. So if you want to be more helpful, stop him from murdering me in cold blood?” Louis sighed, crossing his arms and one ankle over the other.

“I think the Badgers kind of disowned me after I quit, but if I ever see him getting on your case, I promise I’ll try to stop him,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly because eating so much of your pride so fast will inevitably start to take its toll.

“Will you two take your seats, please?” Mr. Chilton huffed, constantly behind on the social structure of teenagers. Didn’t these two hate each other?

Louis met Dante’s eyes once more and slowly backed away, turning over his right shoulder with a tiny smirk and walking to his seat. One down, six billion to go.

 

\---

 

An arduous and coma-inducing fifty minutes later, the bell rang, and Louis almost snorted as he was jarred out of a state that was precariously bordering on permanent sleep.

“And don’t forget to read chapter twenty four tonight. I want those vocab pages in tomorrow, so slacking will only hinder yourself,” Mr. Chilton reminded, secretly hoping that nobody would listen so he could elatedly fail every last one of them. “Not you, Louis. You stay,” he called, stopping the retreating student in his tracks.

Louis groaned and turned back around, wondering what he could have possibly done wrong in the class, but that’s when he remembered—Harry’s essay. He gulped audibly and shuffled his heavy feet to Mr. Chilton’s podium, praying that Harry’s words wouldn’t get him a week’s worth of detention.

“Here,” Mr. Chilton said aggressively, handing the essay back in its original envelope.

“Uh...thank you,” Louis said meekly, taking the item in his hands and feeling goosebumps creep over his body in nervous preparation for what laid inside its papery folds.

“This is hardly what I asked for,” Mr. Chilton added, still pinching the corner of the assignment before he would let Louis leave. “But I will admit I wasn’t expecting something of this magnitude either.”

“Ah-hah. Yeah. Thanks,” Louis stammered, almost stumbling back once the teacher let go of the square essay because he’d been subconsciously leaning away from the awkward situation.

“Go to class,” he grumbled, furiously taking a piece of chalk to his board to have something else to do than glare at Louis’ dumb and airheaded facial expression.

“Right-o,” Louis quipped, whipping out of the class before things could get any worse.

Louis rushed out to crash down on the first bench he saw, flipping the top of the envelope open and yanking the papers out to shove his nose into.

_C+_

Louis cackled out loud at the grade he’d been given, and he couldn’t wait to delve into why. From the first ridiculous line, his heart skipped a beat, and his eyes only grew wider as he read further down.

Part of him couldn’t believe that Harry had gone this far, and the other part was laughing at him for being taken aback at all. The rude little _C+_ was honestly a grade above what he would have gotten on his own, but Harry certainly didn’t need to wave his immortality around like a fucking flag at a parade.

 _This fucking asshole_ , he thought fondly, controlling the muscles in his eyes so he could get through the entire essay without rolling them every other line. _This absolute, good-for-fucking-nothing-academically, overly impetuous, reckless, egotistical and irresponsible asshole._

 

\---

 

Louis may as well have pranced his way to the cafeteria when the lung bell rang. He’d been floating on a cloud ever since he’d read Harry’s essay—that confusing and preposterous piece of literature that was about as useful as a stone slab of hieroglyphics to anyone who wasn’t within the inner circle of knowledge.

As miffed as he was about getting a mediocre _C+_ , Louis knew that he was probably lucky to get a passing grade at all. But beyond all that, the attitude that Harry had bled all over his words had made Louis fall in love all over again. He was astounded that he could call such a witty, sassy, and humorous vampire his own; said immortal was going to get the shag of his lifetime tonight, if Louis may be so bold.

He swung the lunchroom doors open with as much flair as he could fit into the action, stepping through the threshold like he had a crown on his head, and a thick cloak trailing behind him. He found Niall where he expected to, and he walked with purpose to jump through the gap between the tabletop and bench like gravity didn’t exist, startling Niall right out of his comic book.

“Whoa, what dreams of yours came true today?” Niall greeted with a grin, promptly flicking his lunch bag across the table with all four fingers, rubbing at his own stomach because he’d personally eaten too much.

“I’m just happy,” Louis said brightly, reaching into the bag and pulling out a Ziploc bag of crunchy pretzels. “Surely that’s not a crime,” he added playfully, his words muffled from all the pretzels he’d shoved in his mouth at once.

“No, it’s not a crime,” Niall chuckled, shaking his water bottle because he swore up and down that it gave the liquid carbonation, no matter how many times Louis told him he was an idiot for thinking so. “Mind if I bring you down a few notches?”

Louis groaned and swallowed the pretzels, reaching for the water and taking it before Niall had the chance. He brought it to his lips and downed at least half of it, passing it back off to a less-than-pleased Niall. “Do you have to?” he asked with a whine, thinking himself naïve for wanting a day of peace.

“‘Fraid so, Lou,” Niall said, but he didn’t look as apologetic as he sounded, finishing the rest of his water in annoyance and chucking the empty bottle to the side.

“Alright. Fine. What is it?” Louis leveled, steeling himself for anything the blonde wanted to offer.

“I forgot to mention it this morning, but my parents want to take you out to dinner tonight to celebrate you winning the school competition. And you know my parents, they can’t be refused.”

“ _No_ , they cannot,” Louis admitted, sighing into the table as he ruled out the option of politely declining—they’d hold it against him forever.

“So you’re coming, right? Don’t make me try and explain why you’re not—”

“I’ll come for sure. We just need to do something first,” he informed, hoping Niall knew how lucky he was that Louis was skipping out on time with Harry to see the blonde’s parents instead.

“Which is?”

“Gotta go to the forest. I need to stop at home and leave a note for Harry when he wakes up. I have to let him know where I am, or he’ll worry about me,” he said, catching Dante’s eye from the corner of his and allowing himself to give him a smile.

Niall followed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows in surprise, shaking that impending topic away so they could focus on the important things. “That’s no problem, just meet me by the racks. Are you ever planning on getting your bike back? Not like I mind giving you rides or anything, it’s just that—wait!” he suddenly shouted, his eyes darting back and forth along the surface of the table like there was an invisible math equation written in the air before him. “Did you say ‘when he wakes up’?”

“Did I?” Louis countered, pursing his lips in fake thought.

“Wakes up in the morning? I’m taking you back tonight,” Niall said, thinking maybe Louis had gotten the wrong idea about tonight’s schedule.

“I know,” Louis said entirely too quickly, his plan to sneak out of suspicion crumbling around him because he lacked the skills to think ahead fast enough.

“So...why would he be waking up at night?” Niall asked, adding this to his list of questions he had regarding the new friends he’d made.

“He works night-shifts,” Louis said with a casual wave of his arm, taking more interest in the bag of pretzels than he did Niall’s face—he’d already fucked this one up.

“Bullshit!” Niall cried, catching Louis’ anxious gulp by the movement of his adam’s apple. “You said he worked days! And that’s why he came late last night! Needless to say, the first time I asked, you said he worked from home!”

Louis looked around in irritation at all the heads Niall was turning with his outburst, and he leaned in closer so the blonde would get the idea and lower his volume. “This is because he got a new job.”

“ _Overnight_?” Niall pressed dubiously, gritting his teeth as Louis slipped further and further away from innocent and headfirst into guilty.

Louis opened his mouth to spout a few more defensive lies, but the bell reared its shrill head, and his freedom came with a eject-like blow. “Gotta dash, see ya later!” he called, scuttling out of the cafeteria before Niall followed, or he was swarmed in an unmoving crowd of people.

“Louis, wait!” Niall shouted after him, needing more time to pack up all his things before he could chase after him. By the time he was out the door, Louis was absolutely nowhere in sight, and Niall knew he’d lost this round. “The _fuck_?” he whispered, walking to his next class with a mini cloud over his head.

 

\---

 

Louis played Harry’s unfinished song like his life depended on it. He had considered going with a piece entitled _Ocean Bark,_ but he’d taken one look at it and come to the conclusion that it was far too advanced for him, so he went with the notorious _Vie à L'Intérieur_ instead—which was a challenge in and of itself—though he couldn’t help his puzzlement over the first one’s title. What did it mean?

 _Our eyes, you fool,_ the familiar voice sighed in his head, this time having no dramatic effect other than making Louis purse his lips in consideration—he was getting used to the mental intrusions.

“So that’s it,” he said aloud, pounding his fingers on the keys even harder because he was filled with determination to create an ending and finish with a bang. He shot his arm out to flip over the last page and retract it like a spring, not a cough of hesitation in his playing. He then did away with the notebook entirely, and threw it over his shoulder, letting the song's completion come from within his soul, and that factor alone. He realized with a breathy laugh that all Hadrian had needed to do to keep this piece going was just that—keep going. He'd gotten undeniably frustrated with some part of this, but Louis thought it was fine the way it was. He followed the theme that had been laid as foundation and brought it to an eventual close that made much more sense than _Year Endless_ initially had.

Mr. Carey had walked over to gaze fondly over Louis' shoulder while he got through the tune, holding the dramatically tossed notebook in his hands because he'd had to bend down and retrieve it from under someone's desk, but Louis could throw the whole damn piano if he wanted, and Lisa wouldn't mind. They both knew that.

Louis noticed when he finished, that the only sounds in the room were coming from a group of flute players in the back corner, but when he turned his head to get a look at his classmates, they all instantly went back to their own playing like they hadn’t been staring at him at all. He turned his head to find Mr. Carey offering him his discarded notebook, and he took it with a shy grin, setting it back on the music rack where it belonged. He smirked to himself and turned _Vie à L'Intérieur_ back to the front to see what he could do to make it even better, but Mr. Carey was on him in a flash.

“I will never tire of you in this room,” the teacher gushed quietly, not wanting his other students to know just how much of a seasoned favouritism-inclined professor he really was. If he could only have Louis for this whole class, he wouldn’t even notice the rest of the seats were empty. Guilty as charged.

“Was it that good?” Louis asked unsurely, impressively hiding the fact that he already knew it was brilliant.

“It was brilliant! And you finished it on the spot!” Mr. Carey exclaimed.

 _See?_ “Thank you, I’m never sure,” Louis said, milking the compliments because he’s in that kind of mood.

“Keep practicing, and I hate to say it, but maybe a little quieter. Everyone is working on their finals, but the piano is especially loud,” Mr. Carey said with a wink, floating away to another section of the room to survey his teaching domain.

Louis went right back to it, expertly following the orders of the time signatures, and defying them when he thought he could improve its overall sound, writing in his own continuations when he needed to. Harry had talent, and Louis would never say that he didn’t, but the old Roman tended to colour inside the lines far too much for Louis’ adventurous tastes. Louis lived to break the rules and bend the guidelines, and it had never led him astray...kind of...point is, music is exactly the same in that regard. Sheet music served for polite suggestions, never unbreakable codes of conduct.

This piece in comparison to _Year Endless_ was much more fulfilled than the other’s beautiful choppiness; this one flowed like a downstream river, cascading up and down the keys like a rollercoaster, but that didn’t make it easier. In fact, this piece was world’s more strenuous—physically and otherwise—than the first, and anything else Louis has ever attempted.

For starters, the mid-beginning of the song required Louis to play a repetitive waltz rhythm with his left hand—at a quicker pace than danceable waltzes tend to be—with a single note for the first beat, and two repeated chords for the rest of it, which changed with every segment. Easy in itself when that’s all you need to do, but then you add the very much not-waltz tempo with the right hand, and things get tricky.

Even still, he could do this just fine. It was the middle, crescendoing section of the piece that tripped him up, even if he'd been the one to create it. The left hand forfeited the waltz to dance up and down the scales as if the keys were a see-saw; back and forth with rapid speed from the far left to the equal middle of the instrument, and then back down. A mere slip-up of one of these keys, a single, accidental time, would stand out like an elephant in a haystack, so it was very shifty business to corral his small hands into being bigger for the song. He couldn't just write something he was too inept to perform. That's just a disaster.

But wait, there’s more! His right hand was splitting its priorities all the while, with his mere pinky pressing the needed keys to make one, succinct melody, and his thumb and three following fingers throwing in their own individual party...at three times the tempo. Three very distinct melodies that sounded complete on their own, smushed together to play simultaneously, is a challenge that only he would ever set for himself, but he was glad to take it. For regardless of its level of difficulty, when done flawlessly, this piece was hauntingly beautiful, and he was honoured to be the one who would perfect it.

He had his fun all class long until the bell rang, scribbling his final editor’s note onto the sheet music while his classmates rushed out like it was officially summer vacation. Louis will never understand why people wanted to leave campus so badly at the end of the day; the circus-like parking lot was always fucked no matter the precautions taken.

“Have you written your piece yet?” Mr. Carey asked behind his desk, his nose buried in his paperwork, but his ears dedicated to Louis.

“No, not quite yet,” Louis admitted, sighing because for how easy high school seemed, not everything was attainable to finish quickly when you had a home life like his.

“No pressure, you have quite a while to worry about it. I know how long the writing process can take, that’s why I assigned it in April when school lets out in June. I just don’t want anyone getting blindsided by the deadline. It can come sooner than it looks,” he said seriously, even though he didn’t think Louis would have much of a problem.

“It’s on the tip-top of my to-do list,” Louis pledged, still debating using one of Harry’s finished pieces to cheat his way through the final with, but maybe Alexander could be of help. _Did you hear that?_ he asked, a nerve getting hit when silence resounded. _So you just wanna talk when it’s convenient for you, huh? Don’t wanna play by my rules? Well that’s just not gonna work, ‘cuz if you haven’t noticed—_

“Louis?” Mr. Carey asked, jarring him out of his mental lecture to a negligent second party.

“Yeah,” he said with a tense voice, still fixated on trying to talk to Alexander.

“I said have a good day,” the teacher chuckled, his hands full of his satchels and folders, giving a patient point to the door to get Louis on the move.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m holding everything up, aren’t I?” Louis laughed, holding the door open for the teacher and painting fabricated happiness onto his demeanor with the broadest brush he could find.

“See you tomorrow, Lou. Keep working at that self-composition,” Mr. Carey said encouragingly, trying to sip the coffee cup between his thumb and index finger grip without dropping everything else. He was addicted to his coffee, that much had always been clear.

“I will,” Louis said, full of determination to get this done with or without Alexander’s sporadic assistance. _Did you hear that, Alex? I don’t need you to write a damn song. You just sit back and watch._

 

\---

 

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Niall asked as Louis began to step out of the car.

“Zayn isn’t here, Niall,” Louis chuckled.

“I know that, fuck. It’s just a long walk is all,” Niall said defensively, turning the dial on his truck to try and find a decent tune on the staticky radio.

“I’ll make it quick,” Louis promised, shutting the door and carefully jogging down the hill. He really wanted to go to the basement and give his sleeping Harry a bunch of kisses, but Niall would huff and puff if he had to wait too long, so Louis would have to display large amounts of self-control if he was gonna make this snappy.

He reached the bottom of the hill and climbed back up after rounding the fence, offhandedly thinking that Martin should somehow build a second gate into the fence at the top of the slope so that Louis didn’t have to put in so much work. The dirt road that led up to the mansion was too narrow for Niall to drive down and turn around on, and it was more out of the way to get to from the street than the back shortcut was. This was all a problem.

He reached the front doors and opened them with haste, jogging with a shuffle to the refrigerator and getting his papers from his bag to make a note for Harry or Martin to find. He ripped a page from his notebook and fished around for a pencil, holding the piece of paper against the fridge door as he wrote:

~

_Harry, I’m going with Niall to have dinner with his parents._

_They invited me, so I can’t refuse._

_I’ll be back probably around 8? I can’t be sure._

_But I’m okay. I’ll be home eventually._

_I love you_

_~_

He thought about signing his name, but it was obvious he’d been the one to write it, so he changed his mind. He noticed there weren’t any magnets around to tack the note to the fridge with, so he left it on the kitchen table instead. _But what if Harry doesn’t sit at the table?_

He sighed loudly and ran up the multiple staircases that would take him to the fourth floor, flying down the hall and walking into the mirror room to leave it there, where he _knew_ it would be seen. He set the note down in front of the trapdoor and used every ounce of his strength to turn back and walk the other way.

Once he retrieved his backpack from the kitchen, he forcibly took his feet outside the mansion and closed the door behind him, bracing himself for the high climb back to Niall’s truck, feeling like he’d just tackled Mt. Everest when he finally got there.

“Now we good?” Niall asked, turning down the sweet sounds of _Summer Breeze_ by Seals  & Croft—of which he’d been belting at the top of his lungs—to hear Louis’ response.

“Yeah, groovy,” Louis grunted. He noticed that Niall was having quite the time with himself trying to resist the urge of asking the follow-up question, so Louis beat him to it. “No, Zayn was not in there,” he said, biting back a snort when Niall’s face fell so solemnly, you’d think his puppy had just died.

“That’s fine,” the blonde choked with a shrug, pulling away from the curb to drive home and get the two of them ready for a Horan dinner outing.

Louis wanted so badly to poke fun at Niall for the pouty way he was acting, but he knew in his heart that he wasn’t much better off. He’d done a hearty amount of sulking during his walk to the truck because he hadn’t gotten to sneak a glance of Harry—or a creepy touch—so he understood all too well how his best friend was feeling. _Vampires,_ Louis thought grudgingly. _They sure know how to suck you in._

 

\---

 

“Louuuiiis,” Mrs. Horan lilted in adoration, pulling him into a hug the second he walked through the door.

“Hi, Maura,” he replied kindly, returning the embrace with a single but enthusiastic arm.

“We’re so proud of you, dearie,” she gushed, leading him into their living room while Mr. Horan offered to take his coat. This family had always been the only functioning one Louis had ever seen, and they knew how deeply they played that role—so they overplayed it.

“Thanks, but I really don’t think I’m all that great—”

“Absolute nonsense, he’s the best. Here, come over here,” Niall said, grabbing Louis by the arm and dragging him toward the grand piano that sat unplayed in their den.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“You will do whatever I damn tell you to do, they wanna hear it,” Niall whispered icily into his ear; quiet enough to remain undetected by Niall’s parents who were following them in, but loud enough that the words seared straight through Louis’ ear canal and into his brain.

“Niall has been talking nonstop about the song that gave you the big win. You wouldn’t mind playing it, would you?” Niall’s Father, Bobby, asked excitedly, blissfully unaware of Louis’ racking nerves.

Louis wasn’t nervous because he had any insecurities over the quality of his playing, or that he didn’t do well playing for people in general, his worries stemmed from something a bit more credible: Alexander had an infuriating habit of taking over him while he worked with a piano, and if he decided now would be a good time to reign supreme, Louis was going to have problems. “Of course not,” he said flippantly in disregard to all of his very real fears, taking a seat on the uncushioned stool and waiting until the Horans were all arranged on their couches to form his tiny audience. They stopped their fussy fidgeting and made their undivided attention known, three pairs of bluer-than-the-sky eyes gluing onto Louis with the strength of tree sap.

He inaudibly sighed and turned back around, trying his best to ignore their gazes as he commenced _Year Endless_ by heart, barely using time to think of the next note, because it had already been played by the time it popped up into his head. He kept his focus as present as he could, not letting himself get as lost in the music as he usually allows—maybe that would keep his brain in his own possession, and not under the control of Hadrian’s bossy lover from history.

He found it to be working out in his favour, and he played around with the tempo of the end, realizing that he needn’t rush or slow to keep his consciousness intact. He gave the song the artistic edge that he wanted here and there, beyond proud of himself for conjuring an ending such as this by his own means of talent and creativity. _See?_ he taunted to Alexander, though not in the snooty and jeering way that he might have tinged it in before. In regard to Alexander, the long dead vampire was beginning to feel like a friend to Louis; a presence that would always be with him, meaning that no matter what, he was never truly alone. Who wouldn’t want someone like that? _I can do things on my own._

He didn’t notice he was done with the song until he’d been frozen for seven seconds at least; it was the thunderous applause from the living room that jarred him out of his piano-mode, amazing him that such loud praise could come from only three people at once—but this is the Horan household. They were loud.

“That was wonderful!” Maura gasped, shuffling her little kitten heels across the fluffy brown carpet to give him another hug.

“Was it?” he asked innocently, full of pride over his execution.

“Well done, well done. It’s no surprise why they picked you. Why...you might just win the whole dang competition,” Bobby said jovially, amusing Louis with his aversion to cursing, even when it came to such a small word like ‘damn.’ Though, when you consider how religious the two are, it began to make sense. That might actually be the worst swear there is to them.

“Thanks, Mr. Horan, that’s really nice of you,” Louis said bashfully, looking to Niall to free him from this tug-o-war of compliments.

“Alright, guys!” Niall announced, taking control over the situation because he’d always had that ability. “Who’s ready for sushi?”

 

\---

 

The group had taken the family car to a sushi restaurant on the outskirts of town. Louis didn’t exactly know what to order because he wasn’t used to such fancy cuisine—especially from another culture—but Niall helped a ton by asking what ingredients sounded good and ordering a roll with the answers Louis provided.

Small talk was made as they waited for their food, and Louis found himself staring off into space. The restaurant, called _The Red Sun_ , gave the feeling that you really were in another country. There were Japanese ferns everywhere lining every short table row—of which there were five—of the establishment. The seats were pillows on the floor right beside the long tables that seemed to stretch forever and had no visible breaks. At the very end of the tables was a stone waterfall that provided the perfect ambience to make you believe you were outside if you closed your eyes. There were opened scrolls with Japanese-style art beautifully painted on them, hung up by a nail at every dark, forest green pillar, and Louis was enraptured, his wide eyes sparkling in the incredibly dim lighting of the room.

Just as he was beginning to panic after shifting his attention to his utensils—or lack thereof—their food had been prepared, and was being ushered in front of their noses. Louis took his plate of a roll with a shy, “thank you,” and waited for further instruction from Niall on how to eat it.

The blonde noticed his issues and laughed, reaching over and breaking his chopsticks apart, trying his best to move Louis’ fingers around them correctly. He demonstrated how they were intended to be used and lifted a section of his roll patiently as Louis tried to replicate the action.

After dropping his roll six times, Niall gave up and told him to eat close to the table so he wouldn’t need to lift anything too high. Louis felt like an idiot while shoveling sushi into his widely opened mouth hovering over his plate, but he soon realized it was all worth it—the sushi was outstandingly delicious. He had ordered something with salmon, avocado, shrimp, and seaweed—which Niall had suggested and he’d reluctantly accepted—and a mysterious sauce had been spritzed over the whole presentation. It was one of the best tasting things Louis had ever had the pleasure of eating, no matter the level of difficulty that came with actually eating it.

“So boys, any big projects coming up?” Bobby asked, somehow picking up thin pieces of meat with his chopsticks _and_ dipping them into a bowl of sauce before guiding them expertly into his mouth.

Louis thickly swallowed the sticky rice in his throat and reached out to sip on the complimentary water before trying to answer. When he’d coaxed his mouthful down, he let a deep breath out, and they all chuckled at his insistence. “My final for music has already been assigned,” he said, picking at his remaining sections and deciding which one would be next.

“Oh yeah? What is it?” Bobby pressed with interest, still maneuvering his food like he’d grown up in an Asian country and used the pointless sticks his entire life.

“You basically have to create one flowing song out of three. Like...you have to pick two that sound similar, but not too similar, and then compose something that fits the theme of the other two. Find out how to best combine all of them,” he said, his mind taking him to the doorstep of uncertainty—how the hell was he supposed to pull this off? “I mean some people are writing all three...but the bare minimum is one written one, so that’s what I did,” he added, much to the amusement of his company.

“Oh, did you write the song you played at the house? I’d never heard it before,” Maura said, picking at a food dish that had Louis’ toes crawling. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was still alive.

“No, that wasn’t mine unfortunately.”

“Oh wow, who does it, it was _beautiful_ ,” she praised, half a mind to ask Louis for an encore when they got back home.

“The composer’s name is...is...Hadrian,” he decided on, wondering why he’d hesitated so much on Harry. He knew that Niall had figured the music had come from the mansion, and he’d met Hadrian as ‘Harry,’ so what was he covering for?

“Huh…” Maura hummed curiously, going back to her food because it seemed that particular conversation had reached its end.

Louis could see Niall glancing at him from the corner of his eye, but he diverted all his focus into his remaining roll sections, picking them up with the sticks to finish, and having a rather easier time than before. Maybe it _was_ possible to eat with these.

Talk after that was mostly orchestrated by the insatiable Niall, never happy with silences or breaks in conversations. He came up with every new subject, and Louis went along seamlessly, simply relieved he didn’t have to deal with anything on his own.

He was missing Harry more with every second, and all his wandering mind seemed to land on was cuddling up in bed with him after this was over. He felt rude and ungrateful to be wishing he were somewhere else, but can he be blamed? Harry, when fed, was the most comfortable cuddle partner in the world, and sitting on this cushion was really starting to hurt his back.

The time came for the cheque to be requested, and Louis scarfed down his last section, patting his stomach dramatically and leaning into Niall for support. Niall’s parents had no idea that their son was gay, so no red flags went up at the teenagers’ proximity, they’d always just figured that’s how best friends act. Which is good, because they weren’t romantically inclined at all, but if they knew Niall was gay, they might not be so sure about what Louis’ relationship to him was.

Louis was patient and polite as the final preparations were made to leave, and they piled into the car to get out of the cold, singing like maniacs to Nancy Sinatra’s _These Boots Are Made For Walkin’_ that was for some terrible reason, still frequently playing on the radio in 1973. It’s one of those songs you hate to love, but can’t seem to stop.

They made it home within twenty minutes of _The Red Sun_ , and Niall took Louis straight up to his room before his parents could goad him into more performances in the living room. That didn’t mean he didn’t have requests of his own, though. “Louis, I really gotta talk to you before I take you back,” he said seriously, Louis’ curious head poking out through the door of the attached bathroom, where he’d been meticulously combing his lightly feathered hair.

“Yeah?” Louis asked, a wide range of emotions ringing through loud and clear from Niall’s tone. This would be an interesting conversation. “Are you any closer?” he asked, leaving the comfort of the bathroom and pulling a small love seat up to the side of Niall’s bed so they both had good views of each other. He slipped his shoes off and crossed his legs, heaving them up on the bed while he crossed his arms and leaned back in the seat.

Niall simply stared and sat on his hip, his supporting arm promptly giving out in defeat and causing him to flop onto his side under the weight of the question. “To what?” he asked just in case, not at all hopeful that _the_ topic wouldn’t follow.

“To finding out why the boys are so weird,” Louis said without missing a beat, prepared to jump through any extra hoops that Niall puts in the way—this was important.

“No...I can’t get all my thoughts in order. I feel like I need all the information of front of my face. Like a murder board, you know? With thumbtacks and string to connect the dots,” Niall groaned, tossing his stuffed hippo into the air and catching it, repeating the action several times out of boredom...or nerves, he can’t tell.

Louis hummed in consideration and leaned over the chair to grab his backpack, taking his notebook out to create said murder board. The act caused every paper he’d shoved in it to crash all over the floor, and he blindly picked them back up and stuffed them into his bag as he opened the spiral cover. He snapped his fingers for the pen at Niall’s bedside table, and the blonde did his duty as the middleman. “Okay, this will be your board,” Louis announced, flipping to an empty page and pressing the pen to the beginning of the first line.

Niall sat up attentively and crossed his ankles, pulling them into his body to be criss-cross-applesauce. “How do we start?” he asked his partner in crime.

“Well, what’s weird about them? Isolated characteristics, don’t just say everything. You’re a world-renowned detective right now, and this is the case of the century,” Louis said authoritatively, looking to Niall expectantly.

Niall pondered the first thing he could mention, and found he couldn’t organize everything sufficiently enough by importance, so he voiced the first thing that came to mind. “They all talk like Kings,” he said, debating how he could have said that better.

“So...weird speech patterns?” Louis suggested, already writing the trait onto the page.

“And vocabulary,” Niall added, using his hands to shift himself over his legs and lie on his stomach, splaying his legs out behind him like a starfish.

“Mmkay,” Louis said distractedly, finishing the line and looking back at Niall.

“Both Zayn and Martin had cold hands at first, but they got warmer later. It would have made sense with Zayn because he came in from outside, but Martin had been inside,” he said, thinking himself dumb for such a strange bullet point.

“Uh...irregular body temperature?” Louis guessed, amazed that Niall had noticed something so minuscule.

“Just unusual.”

“Got it.”

“Which leads me to my next point.”

“Ooh do tell!”

“They all looked different at the beginning of the night than they did at the end,” Niall said with obvious confusion, a noticeable vein on his temple from thinking so hard.

“What do you mean exactly?” Louis asked knowingly, trying to keep up the appearance of objective and curious, as any interviewer would, instead of giddy with the hidden truth like he was.

“I mean take Zayn, for example. No, Martin,” Niall immediately corrected. “Martin came downstairs, and he was pale as shit, with greyish blue eyes. Really cold skin. Harry takes him into the kitchen...Martin comes out with a blush on his cheeks, and really vibrant blue eyes. When I kissed his face, it was really warm,” he recounted, hanging over the edge of the bed while he squeezed his eyes shut, his brain in knots.

“You don’t say…” Louis said in an overdone tone of surprise, but Niall didn’t notice at all. He wrote ‘inconsistent bodily appearances’ down onto the paper, and hoped that accurately described what they were both thinking of, adding a very detailed note in parentheses to really drive the point home.

“Then Zayn. Same fucking thing,” Niall grunted as he flipped over and stared hard at the ceiling. “Comes out of the kitchen like a different person. Happier? Almost drunkenly so...but I never smelled any alcohol on him. He almost looked high, but for some reason I doubt that any drugs were involved.”

“No, they weren’t,” Louis confirmed, keeping Niall on the right track.

“Do you know exactly why all of this is?” Niall asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the pensive Louis on the chair.

“Yes. Keep investigating,” Louis said with a passive wave of his arm, making it clear that Niall was onto something, but that he had to figure it out for himself.

“Ugh...they kept telling me I smelled good. Not so much Harry, but he seemed really nervous and desperate to shut them up about it. Interrupting them every time and dragging them into the kitchen,” he recalled, still shifting awkwardly from the memory of his scent being complimented so directly and intentionally. From across the fucking room, no less.

“Mhm,” Louis quipped, writing ‘heightened senses’ into the list.

“And then! Harry dragged _you_ into the kitchen. And _he_ came out looking different too.”

“That’s true,” Louis said, still in shock that Niall had been documenting so many minor details in his usually distracted mind. How astute of the tennis captain. Ten million gold stars.

“Zayn’s superhuman strength, carrying me up the hill like that. Didn’t even take one deep or laboured breath. _Not one!_ ”

“‘Kay.”

“The witch-hunting statement.”

“Okay,” Louis said with a snort—he’d just known that comment would come back to bite them in the ass. Just like this list would come back and finish the job. “I think we’re done for now,” he announced, looking over the list and deciding it was incriminating enough to leave unfinished for the time being. “Read this over later and think hard about it, I gotta go home, it’s almost nine.”

“Sure thing, I’ll get my keys,” Niall said, springing off the bed like a popcorn kernel and stopping at the toilet to piss first.

Louis held back the comment about whether or not he’d piss out his keys, and tore the page from the notebook, guiding it under his pillow in case Maura happened across it while dropping off laundry or something. He pointed at it once Niall emerged from the bathroom, and the blonde nodded his understanding. He’d have quite the night trying to figure out what it all meant, and Louis couldn’t wait to hear the influx of theories.

 

\---

 

“Bye, Niall. Tell them thanks for dinner, I totally forgot to,” Louis said, standing outside the truck with the door hanging open.

“It’s okay, when they start movie time, they don’t come out of it until the credits are done,” Niall said, reaching over the seats to pound his fist with Louis’. “Bye, darlin’,” he said, Louis shutting the door shortly thereafter.

Louis couldn’t contain his smile as he ran down the hill, bypassing his usual gripe about how there should be a gate in the back, because he wouldn’t be coming back up until tomorrow morning, and that was a comforting thought. He zoned out and envisioned bedtime with Harry to quicken his walk, and he giggled with anticipation when he finally opened the doors, walking in like he’d come from a long day of work and dropping his backpack as if it were his business briefcase. “Harry?” he called, skipping forward until he saw a glum looking Martin creep out of the kitchen. “Hey, Martin, where’s Harry?” he asked, full of sudden confusion.

“Harry’s gone out with Zayn for a...an errand of sorts,” Martin stuttered, wringing his hands together with nerves and retreating back into the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?” he asked Louis when he followed him into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.

“Uh...sure, I’ll take some. What do you mean ‘errand’?” he asked dubiously, his mind automatically wandering to an outing for blood, where the two vampires were currently drowning themselves in slutty humans. “Are they out drinking blood? Is Harry cheating on me?” he growled, Martin shaking his head instantly to quell those dark thoughts.

“No, Louis. This is not an errand, I believe, that either wanted to make,” he said vaguely, making the tea in heavy silence.

“I don’t get it,” Louis said after a while, accepting the cup from Martin’s gloved hand and blowing on its contents.

“Yes, well… It is my understanding that they are looking for someone,” Martin said, wondering how much trouble he would get in for revealing the details of their mission before they were ready to talk about it themselves. “They’ll tell you about it,” he said, trying to convey that he was under Harry’s control, and couldn’t say much more than that.

Louis regrettably understood, and he sipped at his plain black tea as he formulated how he’d corner Harry for information when he returned. “How long ago did they leave?” he asked, hoping that a time stamp was something Martin could freely disclose.

“Harry rose at around seven thirty, and was out the door with Zayn by eight,” Martin said, checking the clock and confirming his own thoughts.

“So they’ve been gone an hour and a half? When do you think they’re getting back?” Louis asked forlornly, his wonderful isolated night with Harry in jeopardy—basically ruined—if he didn’t come back soon.

“That really isn’t something I can accurately judge. My guess is after they make their rounds, they will return to decide the next course of action...but I’m sorry, I really can’t say any more. Please feel free to anything you see,” Martin said, taking his panicked leave because Louis was hard to deny, but Harry was dangerous to.

Louis sighed angrily and sat alone at the table with his tea, deciding he might as well work on his homework while he waited. He did as much as he could until the words began to mold together, and his concentration was a thing of the past. He grumbled and walked off to the living room couch, wrapping himself in the blanket that always hung off the back, and crashing down on his side while he thought.

If Harry had left for something important, why wouldn’t he make a note just as Louis had to inform him of the happenings? Maybe it was so serious that he didn’t have time? But surely he had to wait for Zayn...right? So why couldn’t he—

“Agh!” he roared, rubbing his tired eyes and hooking his hands behind his head as he stared at the front door. He would lie here like a stone until Harry and Zayn opened that thing, and then he would get his answers. He would not sleep a wink until he asked the question...he would not close his eyes even for one second...he would not sleep...until...would not...sleep…

 

\---

 

“FUCK!” Harry bellowed as he slammed the front door open, waking Louis with quite the start as he scrambled up off the couch.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll go to the Sharp Tongue tomorrow and ask the royals,” Zayn said, obviously in a manner of careful appeasement.

“They’re not fucking ‘royals,’ and they’re certainly not going to be any more fucking helpful than my sources,” Harry negated, walking straight into the kitchen and ignoring Louis completely.

Louis did not take this well at all, but something in him told him to set aside his problems until Harry was ready to hear them out. He did not seem ready.

“And you’re positive that Harlock can be trusted?” Zayn asked, running straight to the fridge as Martin appeared through the dining room and turned the stove on. Zayn gave the butler a loaded look of shared sympathy and took five bags out, tossing them into his arms and turning his attention back on the silent and brooding Harry. “Well can he?”

“Silence!” Harry snapped, only making the unsuspecting and sensitive Louis jump from the command.

Louis stayed right where he was behind the wall, not making any noise, and only glancing around it into the kitchen for short spurts of time. He wanted to know, he _needed_ to know, but should he ask? _Can_ he ask?

“Yes, he can. He’s never once led me astray, and I trust him more than I trust _the Sharp Tongue patrons_ ,” Harry said with blatant emphasis on the last part, glaring at Zayn for the mere suggestion of going there.

“I’m just saying, if it’s that area at all, there’s got to be people around who have seen him. Even thinking it was you. It’s worth a shot,” Zayn pressed unassailably, helping Martin pour the glasses once the blood was warmed enough.

Harry continued to glower at the table until he had a glass placed in front of him, downing the liquid with fervor and stomping over Louis’ feelings as he did so.

Louis couldn’t take it anymore. “Harry?” he meekly asked, appearing around the corner and walking into the light of the kitchen with glossy eyes.

Harry’s gaze shot to Louis, and it softened a fraction, but his mood could not be lifted. “I’m sorry, Louis. I knew you were here, but I couldn’t give you the attention you deserved. Come here, come sit on my lap,” he said, patting his thigh and quickening Louis’ pace to the table.

Louis flew onto his vampire and straddled his hips, holding onto his shoulders, and pining for affection of any kind. He sighed in bliss when Harry’s arm distractedly snaked around his hips, but his lover was still far from calm.

“We can’t go blindly walking into a trap. If he’s here, he’s here for a fucking reason, and is toying with me. Nothing else explains his location, this isn’t random. It’s very very intentional,” he said with a bite to his words, bouncing Louis up and down on his restless legs and sniffing around at the neck that was inadvertently presented to him. He was willing to try anything to slow his racing mind, so he extended his fangs and slowly sank them into the skin of Louis’ neck, holding a finger to Zayn to halt his response while he drank.

Louis gasped from the unexpected pleasure and fisted Harry’s shirt, happy that he was able to feel close to Harry and share a moment together while the vampire gave his full focus to him. It was over far too soon, but Louis was significantly calmer, and was able to become more aware of the situation outside of his selfish desires, growing increasingly wary of the drama afoot. “Harry?” he asked in a quiet but more present tone, finally getting Harry to look right into his eyes.

Harry sighed from being called so nervously, and tucked Louis’ hair behind his ear, snapping at Martin to get a napkin. He then pressed the given item to Louis’ neck to dab at the droplets running down from the marks, taking a split second to admire the gleam of his blood. He shook the distraction off and set the red-tinted napkin on the table for Martin to dispose of, licking his lips and lethal fangs clean before addressing his trembling human. “Yeah, babe?” he asked wearily, wrapping both arms around Louis’ thick hips and commending Zayn for being so patient throughout this whole intermission.

“What’s going on?” Louis asked obviously, holding his hands against his chest with interlocked fingers as if he were praying, giving him the picture of innocence that Harry loved so much on him.

Harry sighed once more and ran his warm hands up the back of Louis’ shirt, petting him like a cat as he tried to say only what was necessary, not outlandish. They had theories with no proof, and it was a tough one to call...but ignoring it altogether could be their death too. False alarms are always better than lack of preparations. “An enemy of mine has been spotted in Brimsville. I didn't stay on the phone long enough to find out exactly where, but I don’t need to know. It’s too fucking close. If the information turns out to be accurate, then we’re all in trouble. We all need to watch our backs, and I’m worried about you leaving this house,” he said calculatedly, locking eyes with Zayn to confirm if he felt the same.

“But wh–who is it?” Louis stammered, looking back and forth between all three vampires and trying to ignore how the motion made his fresh marks tingle. He stared at Harry and displayed the depth of their connection in his gaze, attempting to prove he was ready to hear anything, and would understand the precautions that needed to be taken—but he wasn’t actually ready for what Harry said next:

“Auron.”

 

\---

 

Niall climbed up the stairs to his room and flicked on the light when he got there. It had begun to downpour on the drive home, and just the walk from the driveway had soaked him in water. He shrugged out of his jacket and was hanging it on the back of his door, when his peripherals caught it.

There, under his bed, was the unmistakable corner of an envelope. He walked over and carefully examined it, realizing it must have been from when Louis dropped all his papers. He set it on his bed and quickly changed into his pyjamas, flopping down once he was warm and dry, and laying the notes and envelope side by side.

He flipped the paper over first and read through the characteristics that had been listed with a troubled mind:

 

 

  * __Weird speech patterns & vocabulary. Almost like they’re from different eras._ _


  * _Irregular body temperature, that changes unnaturally quickly._


  * _Inconsistent bodily appearances. (along with temperature, their pallor and saturation of skin/eyes drastically changes as well. Their moods and energy levels are also directly affected by the steps taken to make all of this happen. More_ _lively_ _)_


  * _Heightened senses: night vision, acute hearing, and bloodhound-like senses of smell. (Fixated on scent 90% of the time.)_


  * _Incredible strength. Almost inhuman._


  * _Knowledge of the past/ancient history that wouldn’t make sense for them to know unless they were there when it happened._


  * _Nocturnal sleep schedules._



 

 

Niall stared at the words and scratched his head, all points confusingly pointing to Martin, Zayn, and Harry being nonhuman creatures of unknown descent, but that didn’t compute with any information he’d ever received in his life. Supernatural things were just stories...so why did this make sense at the same time? Why was it believable for those three?

He huffed in irritation at his impossible thought train and opened the envelope next, taking out a bunch of papers that appeared to be a _C+_ essay written by Louis, but it wasn’t even close to his handwriting. His eyes widened as he took in the first line, and he remained motionless until he finished all eight and a half pages of inconceivably breathtaking words.

He reread both the notes and the essay until it was midnight, wondering if Harry and Hadrian were somehow the same person...this couldn’t happen...but it almost seemed to be happening before his very eyes. Like he could piece this all together and come to a concise and logical, conclusive puzzle, but surely it couldn’t be real. Right?

Right?!

“Oh, my sweet Louis. What have you gotten us into?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone worried about Harry looking at Louis and only seeing Alexander, please do not let that be a thought in your mind. It's not like that at all. There's so much I can't tell you, but you're just gonna have to trust me. It's not a problem, and everything will be revealed as the fics fall together. :) This concludes the first book of what is going to be a trilogy (with a prequel after all is said and done). I'm working on the sequel right now, though the kidney shit I was suffering with put a huge pause on that when I could have gotten so much done, but I'm slowly getting better and will get back into the swing imminently. But I already know soooo much crazy shit is happening in Path to Permanence. You're gonna love it, if i've done my job right. Thanks for getting involved, and I'll be back as soon as I can. If you are indeed hyped about the sequel, and know you're gonna read it, I'd recommend you subscribing to the series itself. I wouldn't want you missing out simply because you didn't know. Alright peace <3 you can come talk to me at wubwubnparmaham.tumblr.com if you wanna bitch at me for taking too long ;)
> 
> Update: So turns out I actually have an infection on top of the kidney stones. I've had it since the second of February (it's the 25th), and I've been put on three different antibiotics (one of which put me in the ER for an allergic reaction). So having to switch them around is destroying my immune system. I'm starting to get ridiculously sick, but if we don't find a proper antibiotic, I'm going to get septic shock and die. 
> 
> Update #2: It is March 3rd, and they finally killed the infection. My ultrasound showed my kidneys aren't dilated anymore, so it's looking good !! I'm gonna start uploading the sequel verrry soon. Probably about a week. It's not completely done yet, but once I get to a certain scene in my outline, it'll be close enough, and I'll keep writing as I upload. Stick around, the wait is nearly over. Veddy veddy close.
> 
> SEQUEL: ( http://archiveofourown.org/works/10156169/chapters/22561328 )

**Author's Note:**

> This took me so long, and I'm splitting in half because I stared at part 1 so much I started to hate it. HAH.  
> I really hope you guys like this. Lemme know, you know where to find me.  
> wubwubnparmaham.tumblr.com


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